


Blue Roses

by distantglory



Category: Insektors
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Canon Compliant, Community: 1sentence, Community: lover100, F/M, Far Future, Gen, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, you never know what you're going to get
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantglory/pseuds/distantglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Aelia/Acylius writings for various prompts and communities. Canon is variable and will be clarified for each piece, genre is tooth-rotting fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. lover100 #3: Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: For those of you unfamiliar with it, Insektors is an old children's program that was shown in about 1995, and features the story of two tribes of warring anthropomorphic insects - the bright and cheerful Joyces and the dull and dreary Yuks. It's quite cute, rather funny, and occasionally very touching. The whole series is up on Youtube, and since it only ran to 26 episodes of 12 minutes each, you could probably polish it off in an afternoon if you were so inclined. (I should say that the program was originally French, and was dubbed into English twice - once in North America and once in the UK. I use the NA version.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acylius knows the value of being able to make your significant other laugh - especially when they're in a mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-compliant; fits anywhere after _The Sky Breakers_.

"Oh, Aelia. Again?"

Aelia looked up from the kaleidoscope of spilled kolor and broken glass on the floor of her lab, trying not to scowl. Acylius, standing in the doorway, was not the reason for her anger.

"Yes," she said, bracing her fists on her knees and pushing herself upright. "Again." She walked into Acylius's open arms and rested her head on his shoulder. "He's my brother, and I love him, but sometimes he frustrates me to the point of just _screaming_."

"I don't have a sibling, so I can't really claim to understand." She felt Acylius crane his neck to look at the carnage on the floor. "But I do know what it's like to lose so much work. What did he do this time?"

"Oh, I've no idea," she grumbled. "I came in and he was trying to clean it up."

"At least he was trying to make amends," said Acylius. "I can assure you that the guards that fill in my tunnels do no such thing."

Aelia, who had been opening her mouth to make a scathing retort about the inappropriateness of philosophy when one's work has been set back for weeks, closed it again. After a moment, she giggled. The idea of the Yuk guards attempting to comfort Acylius after filling in yet another of his attempted escape routes was just...absurd.

"Ah," said Acylius. "My ploy was a success!"

Lifting her head off Acylius's shoulder, Aelia tried to frown at him. It was a useless effort. Her lips curved upwards in a smile that mirrored his.

"Did he send you in here?" she asked.

"No, I came by myself," he said. "Another day, another escape attempt, you know how I am."

"I do." Aelia kissed his cheek. "Come on. I suppose I owe Fulgor an apology for snapping at him." She slipped her hand into Acylius's as they walked towards the door. "And he owes _you_ some thanks for putting me in the mood to forgive him."


	2. 1sentence: Theme Set Alpha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-compliant; timeline variable.

**1\. comfort**    
The web of tunnels under the Stump are a great comfort to Acylius - there’s something very reassuring about knowing that he can go see Aelia whenever he wants to.   
  
 **2\. kiss**    
Aelia’s heart fluttered as Acylius kissed her hands - the only thing that could have made that moment better would be if he’d kissed her lips instead.  
  
 **3\. soft**    
Fulgor isn’t sure if it’s an inbuilt talent for diplomacy or just the fact that Aelia’s so smitten with him, but either way, he’s incredibly grateful for Acylius’s ability to soften her when she’s mad.  
  
 **4\. pain**  
Watching Aelia recede into the distance was without doubt the hardest thing that Acylius had ever had to do, and he had to close his eyes in the hope that not being able to see it happen would lessen the pain.  
  
 **5\. potatoes**  
Sometimes Aelia’s experiments didn’t go so well: even Acylius couldn’t find anything good to say about the strange roots she’d managed to grow.  
  
 **6\. rain**  
Acylius had always thought of rain as the sky’s tears, and disliked it; it was Aelia who changed his views when she showed him the new growth after it had rained.  
  
 **7\. chocolate**  
Beauty, to Aelia, had always meant bright colours; it was only when she met Acylius, with his chocolate brown carapace, that she realised that beauty didn’t have to have such a narrow definition.  
  
 **8\. happiness**  
When Aelia told him that she wished that he could be happy all the time, Acylius took her hands in his and told her that his happiness was all the sweeter for not being constant.  
  
 **9\. telephone**    
Teknocratus’s latest invention was of considerable interest to Acylius - he could definitely see a benefit to being able to talk to people long distances away, and that benefit’s name was ‘Aelia’.  
  
 **10\. ears**  
Aelia couldn’t bring herself to believe her ears - it was only Acylius’s earnest expression, increasingly edged with uncertainty, that convinced her that, yes, he had just asked her to marry him.  
  
 **11\. name**  
When she first told him her name, he experienced a strong sense of satisfaction - it was only fitting that so beautiful a creature would also have a beautiful name.  
  
 **12\. sensual**  
The first truly sensual pleasure that Acylius experienced was the feeling of Aelia’s hand in his.  
  
 **13\. death**  
Peace between the Yuks and the Joyces had become Acylius’s primary concern - because only with the death of war would he have a chance to truly be with Aelia.  
  
 **14\. sex**    
Despite repeated insistence that it would be better if the child was male, Acylius truly did not care what sex his firstborn was - only that they were healthy.  
  
 **15\. touch**    
It was only when the moons touched the far horizon that Aelia and Acylius were able to bring themselves to let go of one another - dawn had to find the Yuk prince back in his room, or there would be trouble.   
  
 **16\. weakness**    
Certainly Krabo and the others thought that his feelings for Aelia made him weak - but Acylius knew, as he stared down the Koleoptor that was hovering over the stricken butterfly, that they were in fact what made him strong.  
  
 **17\. tears**    
It was only when the Yuk machines had vanished into the distance, taking Acylius with them, that Aelia could bring herself to go back inside - only then that she fled to her room and gave way to tears.  
  
 **18\. speed**    
Aelia considered it distinctly unfair that time plodded when Acylius was not present, and sped ridiculously fast when he was.  
  
 **19\. wind**    
When the wind blew from Flower City, Acylius could always be found at the top of the Stump, where he could close his eyes, smell the air, and dream that he was with Aelia.  
  
 **20\. freedom**  
Every time that Acylius thought he had gained his freedom, he found new chains - he longed for the day when duty and love would bring him to the same place.  
  
 **21\. life**  
The change that was apparent when Acylius was in Flower City compared to when Acylius was in the Stump had convinced Aelia - time spent in Yukdom was not living, only existing.  
  
 **22\. jealousy**    
Whenever he was with Fulgor, Acylius had to struggle against certain feelings of jealousy - after all, Fulgor was free, a Joyce, and got to spend as much time as he liked with Aelia.  
  
 **23\. hands**  
Aelia was shocked when Acylius joined the chorus of protests against her helping in the latest action against the Yuks - until he took her hands in his and told her, “Your hands are meant to create, not to destroy.”  
  
 **24\. taste**  
Acylius would never forget his first taste of terror - it was when he saw Krabo enter the throne room with a cage on the back of the Peripatetik.  
  
 **25\. devotion**    
The Great Pyro could only nod with satisfaction when he saw Aelia and Acylius holding hands - he knew he would never need to doubt the Yuk prince’s devotion to his daughter.  
  
 **26\. forever**    
Countless generations would pass, but the Prism would always remember the couple that repaired the divide between two races.  
  
 **27\. blood**    
There was blood dripping between Acylius’s fingers as he pressed them over the wound, but he still tried to smile and assure Aelia that it was only a scratch.  
  
 **28\. sickness**    
When Aelia fell ill, the first thing that Acylius did was march into his mother’s throne room and inform her that he would be staying in Joyce territory for some time - and that there would be consequences if she tried to remove him.  
  
 **29\. melody**    
Acylius had expected it to be hard to learn to dance - but the melody seemed to guide him, and it wasn’t long before he and Aelia were whirling in the sky as skillfully as any other couple.  
  
 **30\. star**    
Aelia gazed up at the night sky and hoped that Acylius was outside tonight - the stars seemed to be the only beauty that he would find in the City of Shadows.  
  
 **31\. home**    
Acylius had ceased to think of Yukdom as his home long before he first travelled to Joyceland, and meeting Aelia only cemented this - after all, home is where the heart is.  
  
 **32\. confusion**    
Acylius could hear the guards shouting in confusion as they tried to find him in the maze of tunnels that now stretched beneath the City of Shadows, and couldn’t suppress a smile: they shouldn’t have tried to stop him from seeing Aelia.  
  
 **33\. fear**    
Once, Aelia had simply accepted that there would always be conflict with the Yuks, but this has since become her greatest fear - because it would break Acylius’s heart, and hers, if they weren’t able to be together.  
  
 **34\. lightning/thunder**    
As lightning slid in sheets over the Prism’s surface and leaped into the sky, Acylius and Aelia drew back as one - and both fought their urge to reach for the other’s hand.  
  
 **35\. bonds**    
“I know that you’re frustrated, dear,” said the Great Pyro, “but the fact that you are unable to break the bonds that hold Acylius to Yukdom is no reason to destroy your laboratory.”  
  
 **36\. market**    
Trying to market the idea of peace to the Yuk people is a discouraging task to take upon yourself - but it only takes one look at Aelia’s face for Acylius to know that his efforts will be worth it in the end.  
  
 **37\. technology**    
It comes down to a trade of resources for technology, in the end, and the affair is finally settled to the satisfaction of everyone - and the boundless joy of Aelia and Acylius.  
  
 **38\. gift**    
“Nothing,” said Acylius, “will ever equal the gift of your presence in my life, Aelia.”  
  
 **39\. smile**    
One of the greatest joys in Aelia’s life is the smile that comes onto Acylius’s face when he sees her.  
  
 **40\. innocence**    
Aelia can see that trying to create peace between their two peoples is tearing away Acylius’s innocence, piece by piece, and she wishes that she could return it.  
  
 **41\. completion**  
For Aelia, the completion of each new project now brings a sense of sadness as well as satisfaction - because Acylius is only rarely around to witness her triumphs.  
  
 **42\. clouds**  
The clouds that gather over the sky in the City of Flowers as Acylius leaves again are nothing compared to the clouds that gather in Aelia’s heart.  
  
 **43\. sky**    
Among the many, many gifts that Aelia has given Acylius, the one that he treasures the most is the sky - because without her, he never would have learned to fly.  
  
 **44\. heaven**    
There is always a brief moment in his visits where they both forget that he will have to leave - those moments, with their promise of eternity, are their heaven.  
  
 **45\. hell**    
For Acylius, nothing equals the hell of finding out about some new war effort too late to warn the Joyces and knowing that Aelia will throw herself into the front line to defend her home.  
  
 **46\. sun**    
He climbs up to the top of the Stump and watches the sun rise, knowing that she is doing the same, and hoping, like him, that the day will come when they can watch it rise together.  
  
 **47\. moon**    
Soaring in the moonlight among the fireflies, hand in hand with Aelia, is an experience that Acylius can hardly credit - it seems too magical to be real.  
  
 **48\. waves**    
Gentle waves lap at Aelia’s carapace as Acylius slides into the pool and slips his arms around her waist.  
  
 **49\. hair**  
He watches the tiny green hairs sink into cracks, and smiles with satisfaction as Aelia’s gift begins its riotous growth through the corridor around Krabo’s room.  
  
 **50\. supernova**  
Colour blooms in supernovas in the sky above the Great Flower as the Joyces celebrate the ascension of King Acylius - and, of course, his new queen.


	3. lover100 #85: Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several centuries after the Yuk-Joyce War ends, a hapless scholar tries to translate an important document.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Far future!fic. As such, OCs ahead.

One thing that Asilus had discovered in his scholarly career was that the difficulties of translation are rarely appreciated by the uninitiated. This was why he was currently face-down in a drift of paper on his desk, with eyes that felt like they were trying to twitch their way out of his head. A jumble of words seemed to have imprinted themselves on the inside of his eyelids, and none of them made any sense.   
  
Since he didn’t even have the energy to form and articulate a curse against his employer, he mumbled something incoherent but ill-meaning into his drafted translations.

“So...can I get you anything?” enquired a voice. “Pillow? Drink? Convenient cliff to jump off?”  
  
Asilus turned his head enough to get one eye above the edge of the paper piles. There was a red-orange stick insect standing in front of his desk, arms casually folded. “How would you bring me a cliff?” Asilus asked.  
  
“It’d probably take some doing,” said the stick insect, mock-thoughtfully. “But if all else fails, I could always drag you there and drop you off myself.”  
  
Asilus let his head roll back into its hollow with a groan. That was Tonans—best friend, roommate—

“Seriously, Asilus, this has got to stop. You have no appreciation for my stellar wit when you’re this tired.”  
  
—pain in the behind.  
  
Asilus made himself sit up. The sheet of paper that had rested under his cheek had stuck to it, so he was forced to endure Tonans’ snickering as he pulled it off. The ink must not have been entirely dry when he let his head fall on it.   
  
The scholar examined it dolefully. The words were smeared, but he couldn’t tell if that was because he’d smudged the ink or whether his vision was failing him. The thought of having to redo even one page made him want to weep; he had so much more to do as it was.  
  
He looked pleadingly at Tonans and held out the page.  
  
“Is this clear? Does it make sense?”  
  
His friend took the paper and started to read. His antennae flicked up. “ _...wings like twilight...eyes that glitter like stars...more lovely than the most beautiful of flowers_...please don’t tell me that this is for my cousin.”  
  
Asilus flinched, then sat up straight and glared. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He had been thinking about copying out that particular passage and giving it to Kathy; it seemed appropriate. But Tonans’ incredulous tone was making him reconsider that particular plan.  
  
“If you’re trying for poetry, you’re failing.” Yes. Definitely reconsidering.  
  
“It’s not mine,” said Asilus. He shuffled the papers in front of him. “It’s part of the translation that I’m working on.”  
  
Tonans dropped the page onto the nearest pile. “Translating what?  _101 Worst Love Poems of the Late Yuk-Joyce War_?”

 “The personal journal of Acylius during his adolescence, actually,” said Asilus, stung on behalf of his namesake.  
  
There was a considerable silence.   
  
Finally, Tonans said, “Acylius?”  
  
“Yes.”   
  
“As in,  _King_  Acylius?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“The Peacemaker?”  
  
Asilus raised one antenna. “Is there a point that you are trying to make?”  
  
Tonans ignored this. “The guy who frightened the Prime Minister right off the edge of a runway and into the moat when he tried to launch a personal attack on the Joyces after the treaty was signed? And then left him there for three hours?”  
  
“That story is entirely apocryphal,” said Asilus, putting his nose in the air. “The academic community has yet to find any evidence to support such a wild tale.”  
  
“Whatever,” said Tonans, rolling his eyes. “You know what I mean.”  
  
“Sadly. And yes, this is the same man. Although...” Asilus picked up the page and checked the date of the entry, “...this is some years before he ascended the throne.”  
  
There was another, shorter silence. “You’re telling me that the king who bullied the Yuks into making peace with the Joyces devoted pages of his diary to bad love poetry?”  
  
“Essentially, yes.” Asilus pushed his chair away from his desk and stretched. “To say that he was smitten with Aelia would be the understatement of the century. Or possibly millennium.”  
  
“His wife? Really? I thought that that was just a political match!”  
  
“Oh, no,” said Asilus, warming to his subject. “They met years before Acylius became king. Apparently it was close to love at first sight and the feeling was entirely mutual. He made repeated escapes from the City of Shadows to visit her.”  
  
Tonans boggled. Clearly, Asilus was upsetting deeply ingrained beliefs. “Escapes? He was the prince!”  
  
Asilus had been prepared for this, and was already searching for the appropriate entry. “Ah, here we are.  _I am certainly the worst Yuk that the Stump has ever produced. After all, Krabo says so, so it_  must  _be true_.” He looked up at Tonans. “Krabo was—”  
  
“Prime Minister at the time, I know,” said Tonans, rolling his eyes again.  
  
“Correct,” said Asilus, a little miffed. “Anyway, he and Acylius appeared to dislike one another intensely, which is not surprising. Acylius was, as he remarks elsewhere, ‘a Joyce at heart’, while Krabo was a dyed-in-the-carapace traditional Yuk. So the comment is likely to be sarcastic.”  
  
“I got that. So the diary is half mooning over Aelia and half complaining about his tutor?”  
  
“A gross simplification.”  
  
“So, more like sixty-forty, then.”  
  
“Possibly seventy to thirty.”  
  
They shared a grin.   
  
Tonans sat down on the other chair and folded his arms along the back. “So, is it all that bad? The poetry, I mean.” He had lost his disbelief, and now looked curious.  
  
“Most of it,” said Asilus, who privately considered that Acylius had done very well for being raised in an environment that eschewed beauty in every form.   
  
“Great!”  
  
Asilus looked askance at his friend. “‘Great’?”   
  
“You’ll have lots of stuff to quote to Kathy. She likes that mushy junk.”  
  
Asilus picked up his pen and threw it at Tonans’ head.


	4. 1sentence: Theme Set Beta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In relation to no. 18, a quick history of military ballooning can be found on Wikipedia. I have no idea whether the development of the party balloon was at all related.

**1\. walking**  
When the microbe infected Flower City, Aelia had her first taste of what it was like to be ground-bound - and she wondered how Acylius had borne it before he learned to fly.  
  
 **2\. waltz**  
Most Joyce dances were energetic and enthusiastic (as indeed was most of the music), but the quieter, more sedate waltz was Aelia and Acylius’s favorite - it was the perfect excuse to hold one another close.  
  
 **3\. wishes**  
Aelia had never really believed in the Joyce superstition of sending wishes on windblown petals, but after she met Acylius, she took it up - religiously wishing on each petal for Acylius to be able to get away from the Stump.  
  
 **4\. wonder**  
Aelia had thought that she had maintained her wonder at the beauty of Flower City despite having lived there her whole life - but then she saw the way that Acylius breathed that beauty in, and knew that she hadn’t.  
  
 **5\. worry**  
They both worried about the other, knowing that when the Yuks launched their next assault on Flower City, they would both be in the thick of things, trying to thwart it.  
  
 **6\. whimsy**  
Fulgor sometimes teased Aelia about her whimsical streak, but the fact that it had led to her meeting with Acylius gave Aelia all the justification she needed.  
  
 **7\. waste/wasteland**  
When he mentioned the way that the wasteland depressed him, she took him by the hand and showed him the golden-orange cactus flower that grew there by night - confirmation that beauty could be found in even the most barren of places.  
  
 **8\. whiskey and rum**  
There were certain drinks among the Joyces that seemed to send the drinker into an even higher state of joy - but Acylius politely declined when offered them, saying that as long as he was with Aelia he was as happy as he could be.  
  
 **9\. war**  
When he mentioned being confused as to why the war had continued for so long, she hesitantly offered her own deep-seated anger with the Yuks for destroying her work - but this only increased his confusion, because the Joyces had never done more than stop the Yuk incursion.  
  
 **10\. weddings**  
In the end, with the peace so new and relations so uncertain, they held two weddings - one in the depths of the Stump, and the other below the Prism in Flower City.  
  
 **11\. birthday**  
Acylius’s eighteenth birthday was a miserable affair, a reminder that he was still shackled to his Yuk royal duties - but when he snuck out to Flower City that evening, Aelia organized another party, and suddenly it didn’t seem so bad after all.  
  
 **12\. blessing**  
Getting a blessing out of his mother had been like trying to fly with rocks tied to his feet, but in the end the fact that Aelia made her son happy pulled a reluctant betrothal agreement from Bakrakra’s lips.  
  
 **13\. bias**  
Despite what might have been considered an inevitable bias against Yuks, Aelia still thought that Acylius was the most beautiful young man she’d ever seen.  
  
 **14\. burning**  
He’d never liked the smell of burning, but after he met Aelia, Acylius actively avoided the Hotsy-Totsy - he hated to think of all her work just going up in smoke.  
  
 **15\. breathing**  
After being confined to the Stump for so long, getting to Joyce territory and seeing Aelia was like being allowed to breathe again.  
  
 **16\. breaking**  
Acylius never said anything, but Aelia could see that life in the Stump was taking more and more out of him - and all she could do was hope that it wouldn’t break him completely.  
  
 **17\. belief**  
Sometimes believing that the war could really end took all the effort that they both had.  
  
 **18\. balloon**  
Aelia’s creations certainly brightened up what might otherwise have been sparse decoration, considering the winter season - and it pleased both her and Acylius to have developed them from sketches of old Yuk technology.  
  
 **19\. balcony**  
If it weren’t for the fact that it was such a public place, the balcony that edged the entrance to Flower City would have been a wonderful place to watch the sunset - as it was, teasing comments from Fulgor and knowing giggles from Joyce workers forced Aelia and Acylius to relocate elsewhere.  
  
 **20\. bane**  
Acylius made a point of innocently mentioning Aelia every time he spoke to his mother - he knew that the way the Queen vented her irritation at the relationship had become the bane of the Prime Minister’s life.  
  
 **21\. quiet**  
It was a sad truth that neither of them could feel entirely comfortable when there was a quiet period in the conflict between their two peoples - such lulls generally meant that Krabo was up to something truly diabolical.  
  
 **22\. quirks**  
It made Aelia angry to think that every quirk that made Acylius so dear to her - his appreciation of kolor, his love of flowers, his desire for peace - was another reason to the Yuks that their prince was a bad person.  
  
 **23\. question**  
Questions had come naturally to Acylius from a very young age, but, “Aelia, will you marry me?” stuck in his throat for a long time before he was able to force it out.  
  
 **24\. quarrel**  
Their relationship was not without its quarrels, but the constant conflicts between their peoples had a way of putting things into perspective.  
  
 **25\. quitting**  
There were many occasions in Acylius’s life when quitting would have been easier - in his attempts to escape, in digging the tunnel to Flower City, in fighting for recognition of his relationship with Aelia - but he considered that the rewards for not giving in had always justified his efforts.  
  
 **26\. jump**  
Sometimes Aelia was struck by how large a jump she had made, from hating the Yuks to falling in love with one of them.  
  
 **27\. jester**  
He couldn’t stop his mother, but the rest of the Yuks quickly learned that it was a very bad idea to refer to the Joyces using any of their usual insults - particularly when those insults were directed at Aelia.  
  
 **28\. jousting**  
Acylius was almost coming to look forward to his verbal jousting with Krabo - the stories of their scraps always made Aelia giggle.  
  
 **29\. jewel**  
Nobody in the Stump objected when Acylius took possession of the strange rock, shiny and colorful - and it did make a wonderful gift to Aelia.  
  
 **30\. just**  
They laughed later over the mockery that the Yuk law court had been, but the best moment for Acylius was when Aelia told him, “It was a good idea.”  
  
 **31\. smirk**  
Even when he wasn’t able to escape, Acylius was easily able to keep track of the situation in Flower City - he just had to observe the presence (or, far more common, the absence) of Krabo’s smirk.  
  
 **32\. sorrow**  
After the initial joy of victory had faded, Aelia was always left to contemplate the destruction of her work - something that Acylius, with his many escape attempts, could relate to all too well.  
  
 **33\. stupidity**  
Whenever Acylius appeared from his tunnels, Aelia always felt a moment of gentle pity for the Yuks that had been stupid enough to stand in his way.  
  
 **34\. serenade**  
Fulgor’s surprise serenade was doubtless well-meant, but that didn’t stop Aelia from shouting at him about interrupting their moment - and it was a measure of Acylius’s anger that he made no attempt to stop her.  
  
 **35\. sarcasm**  
“Oh, absolutely,” said Acylius, thwarted again and at his most sarcastic, when his tutor asked if he was going to give up his ridiculous escape attempts - and his liaisons with a  _Joyce_.  
  
 **36\. sordid**  
It all seemed so sordid, putting a price on peace - but Aelia’s suggestion of the trade of specifically-grown flower wood for new technology finally quieted the majority of Yuk objections.  
  
 **37\. soliloquy**  
Aelia had always had a habit of talking aloud as she worked, one that she had always meant to stop - but then she met Acylius, and realized that talking aloud wasn’t always a bad thing.  
  
 **38\. sojourn**  
Acylius’s sojourns in Flower City were all too brief, and Aelia treasured each one of them.  
  
 **39\. share**  
They helped one another realize that their peoples shared far more things than they had initially thought.  
  
 **40\. solitary**  
Acylius couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered by the amount of time he spent alone in the Stump, since life there seemed even more distasteful when compared to life in Flower City.  
  
 **41\. nowhere**  
There was nowhere that Acylius would rather be than at Aelia’s side - or vice versa.  
  
 **42\. neutral**  
Acylius shifted the Koleopter out of neutral with his heart in this mouth, thinking that the presence of Aelia - who had decided that she wanted to see how a Yuk machine worked - was very distracting.  
  
 **43\. nuance**  
It was amazing to Aelia that Acylius, who had grown up in the most drab environment possible, was better at detecting nuances in kolor than some Joyces.  
  
 **44\. near**  
The completion of the tunnel connecting the Stump and Flower City was a great thing for both of them - it made the other seem so much nearer.  
  
 **45\. natural**  
The natural outcome of the limits on the time they spent together was that they cherished every moment.  
  
 **46\. horizon**  
With Flower City always visible on the horizon, Acylius could never falter.  
  
 **47\. valiant**  
Despite their valiant efforts, Acylius and Aelia could never quite forget during their encounters that soon Acylius would have to leave.  
  
 **48\. virtuous**  
Aelia felt positively virtuous each time that Acylius related some tale of woe and she didn’t immediately fly off to the Stump to pick a fight with those involved.  
  
 **49\. victory**  
The party that followed the ceremony under the Great Prism was not just a celebration of their marriage - it was a celebration of victory, for all that they had fought for.  
  
 **50\. defeat**  
One by one, one after the other, the Yuks were forced to admit defeat - there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that would keep their Prince Acylius apart, or away, from Aelia.


	5. lover100 #91: Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things took a left-hand turn during _Lukanus's Koncert_...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate timeline: canon divergence.

The dungeons in the City of Shadows were miserable at the best of times. Dug deep into the earth below the centre of the Stump, they were among the first places to flood when the Hotsy-Totsy failed and the swamp water seeped in. Even when the pumps _were_ working, there was a pervading sense of damp, and it wasn’t uncommon for prisoners to find themselves dripped on as they sat in the dim silence, surrounded by wet rock, iron bars and despair.

Acylius flinched as a particularly large drop of water splashed down onto his carapace and ran down his wings. The guards, in perfect unison, slapped heavy hands down on his shoulders, and he staggered.

“Hey, now,” rumbled the one on the left. “No more of this running nonsense, alright?”

“Took us far too long to catch up with you last time,” said the other. “We don’t wanna have to go to Lord Krabo and explain why you’re missing. Again.” He gave a theatrical shudder. “My Lord Krabo’s temper is downright scary.”

Acylius angrily shrugged off their hands. “I wasn’t trying to run,” he said coldly. “I was dripped on, and it surprised me.” He flicked a wing, spraying the guard on his left with the remnants of the water. “See?”

The guard blinked at him. “Oh. Right.”

Acylius took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. The situation was hardly the fault of the guards, and they couldn’t help being what they were—perfect, stolid, unimaginative Yuks. It wasn’t right for him to snap at them just because he was feeling helpless and furious.

“Shall we?” he asked, when he was certain that he wouldn’t start shouting at them.

“Right,” said the guard on the left, straightening his shoulders.

“Let’s go,” said the guard on the right, stepping up to stand level with Acylius again.

They set off again, shouldering Acylius from side to side in the narrow corridor.

“Hey, Prince,” said the one on the left, as they turned down another of the labyrinthine tunnels that made up the Yuk citadel. “I got a question for you.”

“Ask away.”

“Is it true that you tackled my Lord Krabo when he tried to put the prisoner through the Dark Box?”

Just the name of the device sent another bolt of cold fear through Acylius, followed quickly by a burst of hot anger. His fists clenched, and he had to make a conscious effort to relax them. “Yes, it’s true.”

“Wow,” said the guard on the right. “Kind of amazing that you’re not in the dungeons yourself. No offense.”

“None taken,” said Acylius. He knew very well why Krabo hadn’t tossed him down here. “It was a very brash thing to do, I suppose.”

“I was more thinking ‘dangerous’,” said the guard on the right.

“Or ‘stupid’,” suggested the guard on the left. His partner—brother? They certainly looked enough alike—jabbed him with his polearm.

“Idiot! You can’t call the prince stupid!”

“I didn’t call the _prince_ stupid,” protested the jabbed one. “I called tackling my Lord Krabo stupid. It’s not the same thing.”

“But if you say that someone did something stupid, that means that you think _they’re_ stupid,” argued the jabber. “And it’s _treason_ to call the prince stupid.”

“Actually, technically, it’s sedition,” said Acylius, stepping between the two before they could come to blows. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t really care if you call me stupid. I’ve been called far worse things.”

“Your Highness! You shouldn’t put up with people insulting you!” said the jabber.

“Even when that person is Lord Krabo?” asked Acylius dryly.

“Uh...”

Acylius sighed. He really knew better than to introduce complications to these two. “Could we please hurry up? At this rate the journey will take longer than the visit itself.”

“Right. Of course, Your Highness.”

By the time they reached the door to the cells, Acylius’s patience was in shreds, and it took every bit of his willpower to step back and let the guards unlock the door. More than anything, he wanted to snatch the keys and haul the door open himself—it would certainly be quicker than this. When the fumbling fool finally did manage to open it, Acylius abandoned control and dashed through, neatly evading the hand that swiped for his shoulder and ignoring the stunned, “Hey!” that echoed after him.

He skidded to a halt in front of the cell at the end and dropped to his knees. “Aelia,” he whispered, thrusting his arm between the bars and finding her hand. It was cold. His stomach clenched.

Then she stirred, her antennae flickering weakly. “Acylius?” Her voice rasped weakly.

Acylius swallowed. “Yes, it’s me,” he said, his voice husky with fear. Three days. He’d been confined to his room for three days after tackling Krabo, and in that short amount of time...

Once as bright as the sky beyond the City of Darkness, Aelia now looked washed-out. Her wings almost blended into the dim cell—something that he might have put down to the lack of light in this place if it hadn’t been for the fact that she looked so limp and listless. Her hand curled around his, but there was no strength in her grip. And she was so cold. Acylius chafed her hand between both of his, and wondered if preventing her from being put through the Dark Box had only delayed the inevitable.

“Fulgor will come get me out,” she said softly. “He’ll come. You’ll see. Don’t worry, Acylius.”

Acylius looked down and choked back what he wanted to say. Fulgor _did_ have a way of accomplishing what would be impossible for anyone else—and Aelia would know that better than anyone, since she had known him almost her whole life.

“How can I help worrying?” he asked. “It’s my fault that you’re here.”

The look of annoyance that she shot him made his heart leap. It was the first real sign of life that he’d seen from her, and suddenly she looked much more like she should have. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “If you’re beating yourself up because I wasn’t smart enough to evade _Kretinous,_ of all people, I swear that when we get out of here, you will be in so much trouble.”

After a moment, Acylius decided that she wasn’t joking—and she wasn’t saying that simply to comfort him. He smiled.

“Very well,” he said. “When we get out of here, I’ll hold you to that.”

She smiled back, and entwined her fingers with his. “So much trouble,” she promised.


	6. lover100 #46: Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The City of Shadows lives up to its name, and consequently Acylius has a headache. Luckily, he has Aelia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-compliant, fits anywhere after _Great Pyro's Sekrets_.

The light at the end of the tunnel was blinding, and Acylius threw up an arm to protect his sight. Caught in mid-step, he stumbled and nearly tripped over his own feet as he tried to find the wall. A painful shock to the heel of his hand told him that he’d found it, and he winced as he tried to rebalance himself. He didn’t dare open his eyes just yet.

It had been a relief to let his eyes unfocus in the dark passage, to feel his way through it and give his eyes a chance to rest. The ache had been almost entirely gone by the time he had reached the end of the passage, and he had been completely unprepared for the pain that lanced through his head when he looked out at the kaleidoscope of bright kolors that was Flower City. Even the blurry afterimage imprinted on the inside of his eyelids was almost too much to bear. He fumbled forward a few steps and made it to the entrance with his eyes still shielded. How much time would it take for him to adjust? Should he retreat back into the tunnel?

“Acylius!”

Cautiously, Acylius lowered his arm and opened his eyes the merest fraction. “Oh, Aelia,” he said, squinting at her. “It’s good to see you...as far as it goes.”

She giggled a little, which warmed his heart and made the pain in his head recede a little.

“I wasn’t expecting you to come back so soon. Why are you covering your eyes? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing terribly serious,” he said, trying to open his eyes all the way. The attempt made him stagger. He fell painfully against one of the pillars supporting the entrance.  

“Acylius!” There was the sound of fluttering wings, and the brush of warm air against his carapace, and then Aelia’s hands on his arm. “Come on, just follow me. Tell me about it on the way.”

She coaxed him into the air, despite his reservations about flying blind. Moving through the sky without sight made him feel queasy.

“Are you hurt?” asked Aelia, her hands cool on his. She must have been flying backwards, a feat of considerable skill.

“No, it’s just...I’ve strained my eyes, I think.”

“Doing what?” There was an edge in her voice that made Acylius want to cringe. He knew that edge. It had never been directed at him before, but he had heard it turned on Fulgor more than once. He seemed immune to it, but Acylius definitely was not.

“Writing,” he said.

“Writing what? Careful, we’re touching down at the Great Flower.” Acylius obediently pointed his feet downwards and felt the cool floor under the tips. He let himself drop fully to the ground, and tried opening his eyes again. Now that he was faced with only the cool white of the Great Flower’s insides, the pain wasn’t as great—though it was still there, throbbing persistently behind his eyes. Aelia kept one of her hands in his and half-led, half-dragged him to her laboratory. “Writing what?” she asked again. The edge was still in her voice.

“Things,” he said. “It’s important, Aelia,” he added hastily. “But since there’s little light in the Dark City—well, obviously, it has to live up to its name—it’s more difficult than I had originally anticipated.”

“Can’t you find a proper light for yourself?” asked Aelia, sounding a little exasperated. Acylius sighed.

“I tried, at first,” he said, glumly. “But it isn’t as simple as you might think. Almost the only lights in the whole city are the torches, and they aren’t designed to be removed from the brackets.” He wrung his hands a little at the memory of the pain. “Then I tried...borrowing...one of Teknocratus’s light-making devices. That was perfect, but it made the guards break into my room.”

“Break into your room?” repeated Aelia, astonished.

“Yuks believe that light is bad for you,” said Acylius. “They thought they were being helpful.” He had repeated that to himself like a mantra.

“I’m beginning to see the problem,” said Aelia, moving over to her workbench. “Stay there. Keep your eyes closed.”

Gratefully, Acylius did as he was told. “I’m sorry to trouble you with my problems, Aelia.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. Acylius could hear her moving around, and there was an occasional drip-drip as she added some mixture or other to...whatever it was that she was making. “I’m just amazed that the Yuks are so stubborn about light. How on earth do they manage?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Acylius told her. “I suppose that they’ve simply adjusted to it over time. It helps that most of them don’t do anything that requires proper illumination, I suppose.”

“Yes, that would help,” said Aelia thoughtfully. “But you can’t write there anymore. Not when it’s going to hurt you like this.”

“But, Aelia—”

She continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “If you need to write, you can do it here.”

Acylius stopped short in the middle of his protest. After a moment, he said, “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

Aelia snorted. “Because you were so set on what you were doing that you didn’t take the time to think?” she suggested. The words might have stung, if her voice hadn’t been so full of exasperated affection.

“Probably,” admitted Acylius. 

“Definitely,” corrected Aelia. Acylius heard her footsteps approaching with some nervousness. When something cold brushed his eyelids, he flinched backwards automatically.

“Sorry,” said Aelia. “This will be cold. Hold still a moment.”

Bracing himself, Acylius obeyed. Very gently, Aelia brushed something against his eyelids. Almost immediately, the cold sank deep into his skin - not enough to cause numbness, but enough to soothe the ache in his head.

“Oh,” he said with relief. “That feels much better!”

“Good,” said Aelia, with amused satisfaction. “It’s supposed to. You can open your eyes again now.”

Cautiously, Acylius did so. Aelia’s laboratory, as always, was crowded with bright containers and floral experiments - but the expected stab of pain didn’t come. His head still ached a little, but Aelia’s medicine had made an enormous difference. Overcome with wonder and gratitude, Acylius seized her free hand and kissed it.

“Aelia, you’re marvelous!” 

Her cheeks flushed, and she dipped her head. “Well, I wouldn’t be able to stand it if you were in pain and I could do something about it,” she said, sounding flustered but pleased. “Does your head still hurt at all?”

“A little,” admitted Acylius, reluctantly letting go of her hand. “I’m afraid that it’s been practically constant, lately.”

Aelia frowned, and reached up to brush his forehead with one hand. “That’s not good. If I gave you something to help, would you be able to take it back with you?”

“If I leave it in the tunnels,” said Acylius, leaning into her touch as subtly as he could. 

“I’ll do that, then.” Her hand slid gently down the side of his face. “And you won’t try to write anymore while you’re at the Stump? That’s probably what’s causing the worst of it.”

“I’ll try not to,” he assured her. “Perhaps I could sit and write here while you work on your experiments?”

She brightened. “That would be wonderful,” she said. “And maybe I can show you some of the things I’ve been working on...?”

He took her hands and kissed them again. “I’d like nothing better.”


	7. lover100 #23: Sexy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aelia and Acylius go out on their first official date. Fulgor tries to be helpful. This goes about as well as you might expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Human!AU. Warnings(?) for male shirtlessness and Rod Stewart lyrics. 
> 
> (It's all Fulgor's fault.)

Acylius looked anxiously at himself in the mirror. Tonight was his first _real_ date with Aelia—not just another evening in each other's company, but a real date with dinner and a concert—and his stomach was churning with nerves. He tugged again at the cuffs of his shirt. It didn't help that his best clothes were his Yuk ones. There was no denying that they was well-made—one of the advantages of being a prince—but so dark and sombre that among the color-loving Joyces, he was going to look more like he was going to a funeral than on a date. Didn’t he have _anything_ brighter that was also suitable for a night out?

The door opened. Acylius jumped, startled out of his panicked reverie, and tried to turn. He succeeded only in tangling his legs together and collapsing with a yelp.

Fulgor just looked at him with one raised eyebrow. "Wow," he said. "You _are_ a wreck, aren't you?"

Acylius glowered at his friend as he pulled himself up and dusted himself off. "You startled me."

"You just about hit the ceiling," returned Fulgor. "Don't tell me you're _that_ nervous."

"I'm a little worried about my outfit, that's all," said Acylius, turning back to the mirror. "It's so...Yuk." He smoothed the dark lapels over the darker shirt. 

Fulgor looked him up and down. "Well, it is pretty drab..." 

Acylius cringed.

"...but on the other hand, it fits you like a glove, and I _know_ Aelia will like that."

"You think so?" asked Acylius tentatively.

"Trust me."

Acylius wasn't at all sure that was wise, but a glance at the clock told him that he'd left it too late to change outfits. He'd just have to hope that Fulgor was telling the truth, and Aelia wouldn't much mind about the lack of color in his clothes. With a deep breath, he straightened his tie for the last time.

"I'd better go," he said.

Fulgor grinned. "Go get her, tiger."

Acylius refused to dignify this with an answer, but strode down the hall towards the entrance of the Great Prism Observatory. 

"I'll play you guys something nice at the concert!" Fulgor hollered after him.

* * *

In spite of Acylius's fears, the first part of their date went beautifully. Aelia was indeed appreciative of his outfit, drab or not, and her own had dried Acylius's mouth to sandpaper. He'd never seen Aelia wear a dress before; she preferred practical clothing, where ‘practical’ was defined as ‘easily cleaned’. Acylius had thought her beautiful in work clothes. In a glossy twilight blue dress, marbled with lighter and darker shades like the patterns on a butterfly's wings, she was magnificent. When he'd told her so, she'd blushed rosy-pink and ducked her head, tucking a piece of dark hair behind one ear in an uncharacteristically shy gesture. 

Their auspicious beginning had lasted through dinner, despite what Acylius felt was undue attention from their hosts. But it was an indulgent, affectionate kind of attention, and if the waitresses in the corner _were_ cooing and giggling over the two of them, as Acylius suspected, they at least kept their professional demeanor while taking the couple's orders.

He forgot about them entirely when Aelia offered him a taste of her meal: first because of his anxiety that he would make a fool of himself or spill the food down his front; then because Aelia's brilliant smile did strange and wonderful things to his heart. 

They left the restaurant hand-in-hand. Gallopus, a family friend in theory under the employ of Aelia's father but in practice constant companion of Fulgor, had offered to drive them to the concert, but been declined.

"It's such a beautiful night," Aelia had said. "And it's not far. We'll be fine."

Acylius was freshly grateful for this decision as they made their way down the brightly lit street towards the park that was hosting the concert. It was warm enough that Acylius had removed his jacket, hanging it over his free arm, and rolled back the sleeves of his shirt. Aelia's free hand absently stroked his forearm, sending pleasant little tingles along Acylius’s nerves. They could match their strides exactly, and Acylius had to check that his feet were still touching the ground. He couldn’t remember ever being happier.

It was almost a disappointment when they reached the park, and their comfortable silence was shattered by excited chatter and the sound of instruments being tuned and tested. As they stood at the edge, looking for a free space to sit, Fulgor popped out of the crowd.

" _There_ you are," he complained. "I thought that you guys were never going to get here."

"Fulgor!" Aelia let go of Acylius's arm and planted her hands on her hips. "You promised that you wouldn't interfere tonight!"

Fulgor's face contorted into a hurt expression, as though he hadn’t managed to interrupt, make ridiculous, or otherwise spoil a multitude of romantic moments. "I'm not interfering. I saved you guys a place, that's all. I thought that the park might fill up faster than you expected."

Aelia was still bristling. "We appreciate it," said Acylius, before the situation devolved into another sibling squabble. "I don't think we'd find our own place before the music began."

Fulgor grinned triumphantly. "Come on, then. It's right up the front." He slipped back into the crowd, and Acylius and Aelia followed. True to his word, Fulgor led them to the very front row of the seats—in fact, the two in the centre. Acylius could hear the same kind of muffled, affectionate giggling that he and Aelia had attracted over dinner. Behind him, Aelia was fielding teasing comments from the Joyces they were passing, some of which made Acylius’s cheeks burn. 

By the time they reached their seats and sat down, Aelia’s mood was moving from flustered towards anger, and Acylius was wondering whether the concert had been such a good idea after all. He leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"Are you alright?"

She did not reply immediately, but pulled his arm over her shoulder and nestled into his side, expression almost defiant. There was a burst of cooing, underscored by laughter.

"I am going to kill Fulgor," she muttered.

Acylius was nursing similar desires. Fulgor may have had good intentions—Acylius clung to that belief—but this was _not_ how they had been planning to spend their evening. The feeling of eyes on him was making the back of Acylius’s neck tingle unpleasantly. 

But he was determined to make the best of the situation, if only because he refused to have yet _another_ attempt to spend time together ruined by Fulgor’s intervention, so he made a noncommittal sound and tightened his arm around Aelia's shoulder. She laid her head on his shoulder with a faint sigh.

"Maybe they'll stop paying so much attention when the music starts," she said, audibly resigned to their watchers.

"We can only hope." He laid his head on hers, and, a little hesitantly, kissed the top of her head. The way that Aelia relaxed under the caress made it much easier to ignore the reaction from their watchers.

The music began not long after, and to the couple's relief, the attention on them did subside. Acylius was almost prepared to forgive Fulgor for the choice of seats—the players were throwing themselves into the music with an enthusiasm that made it a visual performance as well as an auditory one. He was also pleasantly aware of Aelia curled into his side, her fingers gently tapping in time to the music.

"Do you play?" he asked, in a break between pieces. The musicians were scurrying around the stage, rearranging the instruments and flipping pages in their scores. 

"A little," replied Aelia. "Not nearly as much as Fulgor." She still sounded a little exasperated when she mentioned her brother—but then, she usually did.

"It would be difficult to play as much as Fulgor," said Acylius.

"I know. He carries that guitar _everywhere_. Sometimes I think he sleeps with it."

Acylius tried, and failed, to stifle a snort of laughter. He felt, more than heard, Aelia giggling at his side, and took her hand. Her skin was warm, and he could feel the callouses on her palms that came from her botanical work.

"If you wouldn't mind," he said. "I would like to hear you play sometime."

"I'm nothing special," she protested, fitting her fingers between his.

"Please?"

She raised her head from his shoulder, and smiled at him coyly. "Let me think about it," she said. 

A series of soft, hollow-sounding thumps signaled that someone with a microphone wanted attention, and they looked back up at the stage. Fulgor was standing at the front, keeping his ever-present guitar close to his body with one hand as he leaned into the mic.

"Hey guys," he said. "I hope you're all having a good night."

The storm of applause that greeted this made it clear the the audience was indeed having a good night, and Fulgor grinned. "Excellent! We're almost to the end of our set—" Theatrical groans and boos. Fulgor laughed them off. "—but we've made a last-minute adjustment to it, in honor of a _very special_ couple in the audience tonight...I think you guys know who I'm talking about." Another burst of applause, this time laced with laughter. Acylius jumped as several people nudged him, and Aelia's hand tightened around his until it was almost painful.

"So, in honor of those two who will not be named..." More laughter, and scattered cheers. "Hit it, guys!"

"I will kill him," declared Aelia, as the introduction was played. Acylius winced. She was pale with rage, with two points of high red color in her cheeks, and she looked ready to storm up onto the stage and carry out the deed right there. He put his free hand on her arm, trying to think of something to say that would calm her down. They couldn't leave without being noticed, and Acylius had an idea that they wouldn't be easily let go if they tried...

Before he could think of something, Fulgor started to sing. 

"She sits alone, waiting for suggestions; he's so nervous, avoiding all the questions."

Acylius swallowed hard. The words seemed innocent enough, but there was an undercurrent of anticipation and stifled laughter in the audience—and a not-so-carefully suppressed smile on Fulgor's face. 

"His lips are dry, her heart is gently pounding..."

His stomach turned to ice. Surely not. Even Fulgor wouldn't dare...

"Don't you just know exactly what they're thinking?"

An explosion of laughter from the audience confirmed that yes, Fulgor had dared. The singer grinned, and launched into the next section.

"If you want my body, and you think I'm sexy, come on sugar let me know!"

Aelia snatched her hand away from Acylius's. He barely noticed as she got up and fought her way along the row. 

"If you really need me, just reach out and touch me, come on honey tell me so! Tell me so—"

The music died. Aelia, showing remarkable presence of mind, had made her way to the bank of speakers and ripped out the power cords. Heedless of her outfit, whose blue contrasted brilliantly with her red face, she climbed onto the stage and started for Fulgor. 

Acylius got there first, and the concert ended after that.

* * *

 "You didn't even let me finish the song," complained Fulgor half an hour later, he, Aelia and Acylius entered the Observatory. Admittedly, the complaint was slightly muffled by the bloody tissue he was still holding to his nose, but the reproachful tone conveyed it clearly.

Acylius, who was now wearing his jacket over his bare chest and carrying his ruined shirt, pointed without looking. "I am not speaking to you."

"I am," said Aelia, fists planted on hips. "But only so I can yell at you. What on or under earth made you think that you could get away with that!?"

"I was just trying to help,” protested Fulgor. Acylius immediately broke his vow to ignore his girlfriend’s brother, and turned to glare. Fulgor was prodding at his mouth, one side of which was swelling. "Ow. You could at least apologize for this, Acylius."

Aelia came to his defense. "You deserve your bruises, Fulgor. And Acylius didn't even lay a finger on you—you'd look worse, otherwise." 

Faced with an angry Acylius vaulting nimbly up onto the stage and grabbing for him, Fulgor had retained enough of his wits to dodge, but not enough to watch where he was putting his feet in the process. He'd tripped over a hastily rigged power cord, stumbled sideways, and fallen face first into a bank of switches. Though still furious, Acylius's sense of right had not permitted him to (both figuratively and literally) kick someone when they were down, so he had tried to help Fulgor out of the tangle. Instead, Fulgor’s blind flailing had pulled Acylius down with him. And, to add insult to injury, Acylius’s shirt had caught on some sharp edge and been ripped almost from his shoulders—to appreciative cheers from the audience. 

It had taken considerable persuasion by Aelia to get Acylius’s jacket back from the crowd, and she hadn’t been able to meet his eyes since. 

As he watched, Aelia glanced at him, and then immediately away again. Her cheeks were bright red. Self-consciously, Acylius buttoned the front of the jacket. “I should get changed,” he said, fingering the edge of one lapel. Aelia wasn’t the only one feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry that tonight was such a disaster.”

He was halfway to the door when Aelia caught him by the hand. She was still blushing, but she seemed determined to keep her eyes on his face. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said, and kissed him gently.

"Still here, guys," was Fulgor's comment. Aelia and Acylius ignored him. Fulgor had spoiled their evening enough already; he was _not_ going to spoil this as well. 

"Next time, I'll lock Fulgor in the Observatory before we leave," promised Aelia when the kiss ended.

Acylius smiled—less wryly than he might have, with Aelia’s hand still in his. "That may be for the best. I think that’s the only way that we will have an uninterrupted night.” Reluctantly, he withdrew his fingers from hers. “Sleep well, Aelia."

He could still hear the siblings as he made his way down the corridor.

"You just wait until Papa hears about this, Fulgor," Aelia was saying fiercely. 

"Why are you so mad? You should be thanking me!"

Acylius stopped short. Aelia was clearly of the same mind. "Thanking you!"

"Sure. When else were you going to get to see Acylius without his shirt on?"


	8. lover100 #69: Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acylius asks Aelia a very important question in the wake of _Electrik Night_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immediately post- _Electrik Night_ , and you may want to pre-book an appointment with your dentist for this one.

“Aelia, there’s something that I would like to speak to you about.”

Blinking, Aelia looked away from the spectacle in front of her. The festival was starting to wind down, but there was still plenty to look at: graceful swirls of dancing lights, flowers lit from within like lamps, and of course the ever-present river of firefly stars. Given how entranced Acylius had been by the simple, makeshift background to Spotty’s act back at the Stump, she was surprised that he was interrupting. 

“Is something wrong?” she asked. A thought struck her, and anxiety closed her throat. “Do you have to leave already?”

“No, no,” Acylius said hastily. “It’s not that. I won’t be missed until dawn, at the very earliest.” Aelia breathed a sigh of relief, which was cut off as Acylius continued. “What I want to speak to you about is...something that you said earlier tonight.”

Nervously, Aelia replayed the night’s conversation. Even though Acylius didn’t look at all like a Joyce, he behaved so much like one that sometimes she forgot they had such different experiences. She and Fulgor had had to untangle several misunderstandings during Acylius’s brief stay in Flower City. “Something I said?” 

“Yes.” Aelia heard him swallow. “When you found me in my room... You called me yours.”

Aelia felt her face heat to boiling temperature. “I did?”

“‘My poor Acylius, always trying to escape’.”

The only thing that she could manage was a weak, “Oh.” She hadn’t even _realized_ that she thought of Acylius that way, let alone that she could say something like that and not even notice! She was grateful that Fulgor wasn’t with them. He’d tease her even more mercilessly than he already did.

“I’m sorry,” she finally managed. “I didn’t mean to—” She stopped. _Was_ she sorry that she’d laid claim to him like that? Or just that she’d said it out loud? 

She let the end of the sentence hang. 

Acylius swallowed. “Did you mean it?” he finally asked. 

_My Acylius._ It felt so natural. She was beginning to suspect that if she _was_ sorry, it was only because she’d disturbed him. Still, how could she have said something like that out loud? When had she become so possessive?

“Aelia?” Acylius was almost vibrating with tension.

“Yes? I mean, yes! Oh, this is so embarrassing.” She clapped her hands over her face. “I didn’t mean to say that,” she said, voice muffled. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Very gently, he put his hand over hers. “Aelia, did you mean it?”

She was acutely aware of the feel of his skin against hers. She could feel the callouses on his palms, the way that the skin was roughened from his constant digging. 

_My Acylius._

She owed him honesty, but it still took a long moment to force the answer out of her throat. “Yes.”

He went still. Embarrassment and shame turned Aelia hot and cold. “I’m sorry!” she choked.

Then—“Why are you sorry?” The relief in his voice made her lower her hands. “It’s only the truth.”

He was—he was _smiling_. 

She hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might not mind. 

“Oh,” she said. Slightly dizzy with relief, she turned her hand over under his, and folded her fingers around him. Their hands fit together perfectly.

“It goes both ways, you know,” she blurted.

Acylius’s smile vanished. He stared at her for a moment, then ducked his head. “Oh,” he said. His tone matched exactly the way that her stomach was bubbling with something warm and light. She found a word for it: wonder. 

She squeezed his hand, then—teeth nipping briefly and nervously at her lip—leaned in and kissed his cheek. 

Acylius’s wide eyes glowed almost as bright as the fireflies. His tiny, amazed smile was the most beautiful thing that Aelia had ever seen. 

_My Acylius,_ she thought, and this time there was no guilt.


	9. lover100 #70: Lubricious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aelia rescues Fulgor, but gets covered in koal juice during the process. As they--and Acylius--discover, koal juice doesn't affect Aelia in the normal way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-compliant; fits after _No Presents For Khristmas_ , but before the events of _Spektre_ and _Katakombs_.

“Another victory for the Joyces!” said Fulgor triumphantly, holding his guitar aloft. Aelia, struggling to stay aloft with koal juice coating her wings, glared. Unlike his sister, Fulgor had come through the most recent battle unscathed. There wasn’t a speck of dark fluid on _his_ carapace.

Aelia tried to slick some of the slime off her arms. No such luck—of course. It was as sticky as sap, and the only thing she accomplished was to make her carapace crawl even more than it already had been. Koal juice didn’t drip so much as it _slithered_. It made her want to gag.

She pulled her hands free of her forearms with a sickening _squelch._ Fulgor turned towards her, making a disgusted face.

“That is _gross,_ ” he said.

Aelia redoubled her glare. “Yes, it is,” she snapped. “It would have been nice if you’d stopped to consider that maybe _one pilot_ doesn’t mean _one Yuk in the machine_. Then I wouldn’t be covered in this ooze.”

“It’s not my fault that you came in at just the wrong moment,” protested Fulgor. “Besides, I told you not come. I _said_ it was dangerous.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” retorted Aelia. “Next time, I’ll let them ambush you. ‘ _It’s only big enough for one pilot,’_ you said, ‘ _this’ll be a piece of cake.’_ If it hadn’t been for me _,_ _you’d_ be covered in this muck, and that _thing_ —” she gestured to the latest Yuk contraption, lying in pieces in the bruised and torn ruin of her most recent floral creation, “—would still be on its way to the Great Flower.”

Fulgor bristled. “Hey, I’ve handled worse. I would have worked something out.” He slung his guitar over his back. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

Aelia was going to strangle him. Of all the moronic, _insufferable…_ “Doesn’t _matter?_ ”

Her tone would have warned anyone with a scrap of sense to consider their next words carefully. Of course, it didn’t work on Fulgor. He cocked his head, squinting at her like she was some kind of unfamiliar flower. “Shouldn’t you be…I dunno, more…” He trailed off, oblivious to the way she was glaring.

“More _what?_ ” Shoots and saplings, she was practically snarling and he _still_ wasn’t paying proper attention—just kept on staring at her, head cocked and visibly confused. This was ridiculous _._ She was used to Fulgor not noticing what was right in front of his face, but this was on another level entirely.

“You’re covered in koal juice, shouldn’t you be more—”

“Oh dear. I see that I missed all the excitement—Aelia! What happened?”

“Kaboche happened,” said Aelia, tearing her angry gaze away from her brother. Acylius flew up beside her. He reached for her arm, but Aelia pulled away. “No, don’t! You’ll just get it all over you, too!” Acylius recoiled, and embarrassment made Aelia’s face heat. She looked away from her prince.

Which put Fulgor right back in her sights, reminding her of who was _really_ responsible for this mess.

“And Fulgor happened,” she continued, anger replacing her embarrassment. “He decided—like an _idiot_ —to take down Teknocratus’s latest monstrosity by himself. I went after him, and arrived just in time to prevent him from being ambushed, which is why _I’m_ covered in slime and _he’s_ as clean as morning dew.”

“That was…unwise,” said Acylius.

“I _told_ her it was too dangerous,” said Fulgor defensively.

“He _meant_ going all by yourself,” retorted Aelia. “And he’s right. Of all the stupid things you’ve done—and there have been a lot of them—”

“Oh yeah?” Fulgor finally seemed to have woken up to the fact that she was angry at him. “Like _what?_ Name one stupid thing I’ve done that didn’t work out alright in the end.”

“It’s not about whether it ‘worked out alright in the end’,” returned Aelia, fluttering a little closer to her adoptive brother. _Finally,_ he was actually starting to listen to her! “You never stop to think, and it always gets you into trouble, and then someone else has to come and bail you out!”

“If you’re still going on about the daffodil thing,” said Fulgor, fluttering a little closer in turn. They were almost nose-to-nose, voices rising. “That was _your_ fault—“

“ _My_ fault! _You_ invaded _my_ lab, and decided to play keep away with my experiment! And you destroyed weeks of my research!” Aelia took a deep breath, which did nothing to calm her. Just remembering the amount of work that she’d lost that day... “I should have known then that you were a—”

“Enough!”

Acylius had appeared between them, shoving them apart with one hand on each of their shoulders. Breathing hard, Aelia stared at Fulgor. He actually looked shocked, and she felt absurdly pleased about it.

“Aelia,” said Acylius, drawing her attention. He was looking at her like she might sting, and his voice was low and concerned. “What’s gotten into you?”

Aelia gaped. Just because she’d had enough of Fulgor’s trouble-making ways, and decided it give him a proper piece of her mind—“Nothing’s gotten into me!”

“This isn’t like you at all,” insisted Acylius. “I know that Fulgor annoys you, and you have every right to be angry with him about his actions today, but—”

“There is no _but!_ Just because I’ve finally gotten tired of just _ignoring_ the way he makes everyone’s lives difficult—”

“That isn’t true. You’ve said yourself that Fulgor is a hero—”

“Then I must have hit my head before I said it, because all I see right now is a great big—”

Fulgor snapped his fingers. “That’s it!”

It was such an unexpected interruption that both Aelia and Acylius turned to stare at him. Fulgor looked absurdly pleased with himself, so much so that Aelia’s hands itched to smack the stupid smirk off his face.

“Nothing’s gotten _into_ her, but something has gotten _on_ her,” said Fulgor triumphantly. “It’s the koal juice! I was thinking that she should be acting more depressed, but it’s just making her mad instead.” Fulgor patted Acylius’s shoulder. “Thanks for helping me figure it out. I couldn’t tell when it was just us. She gets on _my_ case all the time, but when she starts thinking that _you_ do anything but make the Great Prism shine, then I know something’s wrong.”

Aelia opened her mouth to refute his argument—then shut it again as the last few minutes replayed themselves in her memory. She had been _arguing_ with _Acylius._ About _Fulgor._

She stared down at her darkened hands. She’d forgotten about the koal juice in the heat of her anger. Now that her attention had been drawn back to it, she felt like she wanted to crawl out of her own carapace to get away from it.

“I need to get this off,” she said faintly.

Fulgor pointed. “Springs are just down there.” Aelia bristled. He still sounded smug, and she was fairly certain that her answering annoyance was not just due to the sludge still sliding slowly over her skin. But she held her tongue.

Acylius took her hand. “I’ll help you,” he said, gently. Aelia felt a fresh surge of shame, mingled with almost irritated gratitude. Apparently Acylius would not be holding a grudge, and she almost wished that he would. It would have been easier to cope with.

But that might have been the koal juice talking.

Fulgor hummed thoughtfully, a hand rubbing over his chin. “What about you wings? You won’t be able to scrape them off.”

It was a good point. Fulgor (and Acylius, for that matter) had tough, clear, membranous wings that held up to scrubbing. Aelia’s wings were scaled, and a cleaning scrape would strip away those scales and leave her flightless. She felt a chill at the thought, and then a fresh surge of anger. Dirty Yuks! This was all their fault!

“What about the Prism?” suggested Acylius, tearing Aelia’s thoughts away and making her glad that she hadn’t said that aloud.

“It won’t work,” said Aelia. “Teknocratus worked out a formula that resists the kolor energy of the Prism.” It was a relief to have an acceptable target for her formless anger again. “If I could get my hands on him…”

Acylius squeezed her hand. “Perhaps we should make plans after you’re clean?”

“We _could_ just send her back to the Stump and let her tear her way through all of the war machines,” joked Fulgor. “That’d solve our problems for a while. She might even scare Krabo off.”

Aelia opened her mouth to retort, but Acylius got there first.

“ _Fulgor,_ ” he said warningly.

The hero of the Joyces held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. Look, you just go start scrubbing, okay? Before that stuff dries. I’ve got an idea about your wings. I’ll be back soon.”

He flew off towards the Great Flower before either Aelia or Acylius could reply. They hovered in silence for a long moment. Then Aelia took a deep breath, trying to think past the aggression that told her to follow her brother and get answers.

“Let’s go,” she said. “Before I say anything worse.”

 

* * *

 

They scrubbed in silence for a long time. Aelia didn’t trust herself to speak as she yanked the scraper back and forth across her arms and chest with as much force as she dared. Who knew what kind of ugly filth she might spout next? She couldn’t tell what was legitimate irritation—from the situation, from the cause of it—and what was induced anger.

Eventually, Acylius broke the silence. “I thought that koal juice produced depressive symptoms.”

Aelia chose her words carefully. “It usually does.”

“Then, why…”

“Aggressive symptoms are rare, but have been recorded.” It was easier to talk about as though she were making notes about one of her experiments. “It might be genetic. Papa is the same, when he gets hit.”

“Ah.”

They fell silent again. The only sound was the splash of the springs. Aelia was beginning to find it soothing, rather than annoying, and she hoped that this meant that the koal juice was starting to come off. Deciding to take a chance, she said, “I’m sorry about before.”

Acylius paused in his scraping, then resumed. “There’s no need to apologise.” He was much gentler than she was, and it would probably take him twice as long to clean her back as it would take her to clean her front. But the thought had a kind of affectionate exasperation to it, which Aelia found reassuring.

“I said some awful things,” persisted Aelia.

“I don’t think you could be considered responsible,” argued Acylius. “It was the koal juice.” He paused again, then went on in a conspiratorial whisper, “And Fulgor is irritating at the best of times.”

Aelia stifled an unexpected giggle.

“He didn’t seem to take offence,” continued Acylius, sounding more relaxed. “I wouldn’t worry. But…an apology wouldn’t hurt.”

“I think I can manage that,” said Aelia, pausing in her own scraping to check the results. Was it her imagination, or were patches of her true colouring starting to show through the sludge coating? “But first, you have to accept my apology to you.” It certainly seemed as though the koal juice was weakening; she couldn’t have sounded that playful ten minutes ago.

There was a snort from behind her. She didn’t need to look to know that Acylius was rolling his eyes. “Very well, I do.”

“What, he gets an apology before I do? I was taking the brunt of it.”

Aelia looked up. There was a splash from behind her as Acylius dropped his scraper. Fulgor was hovering above them, half reclined.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

Aelia didn’t trust herself to speak. All of her irritation had returned at the sight of her brother, and she still couldn’t tell whether this was natural or not. Surely most people would be annoyed if they’d had to save a family member, only to suffer the same fate that they had been trying to prevent?

Acylius, thankfully, answered for her. “Slowly. But I think we’re making progress.”

Fulgor squinted down at them. “Are you sure? She looks about the same to me.”

“Quite sure,” said Acylius, perhaps sensing Aelia’s returned irritation.

“Okay, then prove it,” said Fulgor.

“Prove it?” asked Aelia. The words sounded more accusatory than she had meant them to, but it seemed justified under the circumstances.

“You were talking about apologies, right? So how about giving one to me? You said some pretty hurtful things.” Her brother tried to make his eyes big and dewy, and succeeded only in making himself look like they were falling out of their sockets.

It was exactly the same thing that she had said to Acylius not five minutes ago. And she _had_ said that she had thought she could manage an apology to her brother. So why was she faltering now, with Fulgor in front of her?

Acylius took her hand, as though to lend her strength, but even with that, Aelia just couldn’t do it.

Fulgor sighed. “Thought not.”

“It’s hardly fair if you don’t give her time to think about what to say,” said Acylius.

“What is there to think about? It’s two words.” Fulgor shook his head. “But that’s okay. I was ready for this.”

“Ready?” asked Acylius, with a shadow of the sudden horror that had grabbed Aelia by the throat.

“Yep.” Fulgor pulled one hand out from behind his back, revealing a globe of pollen half the size of his head. “This’ll fix you right up!”

He tossed it down to them. It struck Aelia between her antennae, and burst into a thick cloud. She shut her eyes automatically, clapping a hand over his mouth to stop herself from inhaling any of it. Her throat tickled with the need to cough. Behind her, she could feel Acylius muffling his own choking.

“I’ll consider this your apology!” she heard Fulgor shout, half-laughing. Then there was a buzz of wings as he fled the scene.

Sinking her hands in the spring to clean them of excess pollen, Aelia wiped her eyes and looked down at her hands. Thanks to Fulgor’s little surprise, she was now bright orange, the opposite of her natural colouring. In a more charitable mood, she might have been willing to dismiss it as her brother grabbing the first kolor bomb that he found in a misguided attempt to help—except that orange was much less common than blue or pink. He must have picked this one out especially for her.

She was sure that the anger that surged through her _this_ time had nothing to do with koal juice.

She turned to Acylius, who was little better off than her. He had been partially shielded by Aelia’s body, but was still unevenly splattered with the same bright orange that coated her from antennae to toes. He was blinking rapidly, still processing what had just happened—or perhaps trying to clear the pollen from his eyes.

“I’m going to strangle him,” announced Aelia.

Acylius looked at her, then down at himself. Then back up at her, and this time she saw her aggravation mirrored in his eyes. “I’ll help.”


	10. lover100 #1: Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acylius discovers, to his dismay, that romantic traditions among Joyces and Yuks are very different things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon compliant; fits after _The Sky Breakers_ but before _Great Pyro's Sekrets_. 
> 
> Thank God this is finally done. I've been working on it on and off since January! The rock described is bornite, also known as peacock ore. Although reddish-brown when freshly exposed, it reacts with air and tarnishes to the colours mentioned.

Acylius arrived in Flower City just in time to see the Koal Kloud Kreator start to lurch erratically. A cheer went up from the dragonflies circling above the machine and its dark fog of koal juice, and Acylius gratefully slowed his frantic flight. It looked as though Fulgor and the others had everything under control.  
  
He concentrated for the moment on hovering in place, letting his head fall onto his chest and sucking in deep breaths. His blood was pounding so hard in his ears that he almost missed the way that the chorus of cheering suddenly cut off.  
  
Almost. Acylius looked up.  
  
The Koal Kloud Kreator had started to spin in midair, still lurching randomly. The dragonflies were scattering to avoid being hit, but there was one Joyce who wasn’t trying to get away. Acylius’s heart leaped into his mouth as he saw Aelia flying in from the fringes of the conflict. He dived forward, but he knew that he wouldn’t make it in time to stop her reaching the machine’s erratic orbit. What was she doing?  
  
An orange figure appeared from a hatch on the Kloud Kreator’s domed exterior, answering Acylius’s question. Fulgor swayed from side to side, trying to balance enough to leap clear of the machine, and Acylius forced his wings to beat a little faster. He was closer to the Kloud Kreator than Aelia, and his smaller wings gave him greater manoeuvrability. He stood a better chance of helping Fulgor get off that machine before its floundering took it down into the koal fog below. The underside was already picking up a patina of dark slime.  
  
There was the briefest of pauses in the Kloud Kreator’s motions, and Fulgor leaped. For a moment, it seemed that he might get away cleanly. Then the machine reeled, tried to heave itself into a loop, and dropped like a stone. One of the wings clipped Fulgor on its way down, carving a gap in the fog which the Joyce plummeted into.  
  
Aelia screamed her brother’s name, but the fog was billowing towards her and forcing her to retreat.  
  
Acylius dived after Fulgor, plunging down into the darkness. He could see the Joyce below him, Fulgor’s wings completely still as he dropped. Acylius’s throat closed. He tucked his wings tightly against his back and let himself fall, hands reaching for his friend. The distance between them closed, but the ground was coming up fast. Even if he managed to catch up to Fulgor, Acylius wasn’t sure if he would be able to pull out of his dive quickly enough to save them from a hard landing. He stretched his arms further, fingers brushing Fulgor’s arm.  
  
And then suddenly he had a solid grip. Acylius spread his wings, gasping in pain as they snapped taut against the air. Their speed immediately lessened, but they were too close to the ground for Acylius to bring them back up—and the way that they were positioned now, Fulgor would still take the brunt of the impact. Acylius set his mouth with grim determination and hauled his friend up with the last of his strength—just in time for them both to hit the ground with equal force.  
  
The impact tried to jar Acylius’s hands loose, but the Yuk prince clung with every scrap of stubbornness he possessed. He and Fulgor went tumbling, over and over through the soft soil until they came to a stop against what must have been a flower stalk. For a moment, Acylius just lay there. His head spun and he ached all over. Fulgor was sprawled half on top of him. It felt like some sort of comment was called for.  
  
After several long moments of deep thought, Acylius managed, “Ouch.” And after another few moments, he added, “I don’t think we should do that again.”  
  
Fulgor said nothing.  
  
Acylius lifted one hand to shake his friend’s shoulder. “Fulgor,” he said weakly. “You’re rather heavy. Could you please get off me?”  
  
Still no response.    
  
Icy fear surged through Acylius, and he used the newfound energy to squirm out from underneath his friend. “Fulgor? Fulgor!” The Joyce’s head lolled. Acylius knew that he should do _something_ , but what? Nobody had bothered to teach him any kind of first aid!  
Fulgor groaned, eyelids fluttering. “What…hit me?” he asked.  
  
Acylius could have laughed with relief, but his brief panic had left him breathless. Instead, he hauled Fulgor onto his feet and hugged his friend as tightly as he could. The Joyce leaned hard against him for balance, so much so that they nearly tumbled in a heap again. Acylius didn’t care. He was just glad that Fulgor was alright.  
  
Behind him, someone cleared their throat. Acylius loosened his hold on Fulgor slightly, but didn’t let go—his friend was still unsteady on his feet—and looked around. Aelia was standing a short distance away, her expression a complicated mixture of relief and...something else. Acylius couldn’t quite put his finger on it.  
  
“Hello,” she said, her voice sounding unusually…controlled.  
  
Acylius felt Fulgor stiffen. Then the Joyce started to squirm. Startled, Acylius stepped back. “Fulgor, what—”  
  
Devoid of support, Fulgor swayed. Acylius stepped forward again, arms out to catch his friend, but Fulgor warded him off with frantically flailing hands. “This isn’t what it looks like!” he exclaimed to Aelia—just as the flailing proved too much for his already precarious balance. With a pronounced _thud,_ Fulgor hit the ground again.  
  
Complete silence reigned for about ten seconds. Then, his voice muffled by the dirt, Fulgor said, “Ow.”  
  
Aelia sighed and fluttered over to kneel beside her brother. “You should have let Acylius catch you,” she said. “Roll over. I need to look at your eyes.”  
  
Wincing, Fulgor rolled slowly onto his back. “I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea,” he said.  
  
“The wrong idea about what?” asked Acylius, thoroughly baffled.  
  
“Don’t worry about it, Acylius,” said Aelia. She held up three fingers in front of Fulgor’s eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up?”  
  
“How can you be so relaxed about this?” asked Fulgor. “He was _hugging me!”_  
  
Aelia sighed. “How many fingers, Fulgor?”  
  
“What’s wrong with hugging you?” asked Acylius, even more confused. Joyces were far more emotionally expressive than Yuk. How could hugging be taboo?  
  
“It’s—”  
  
“ _Fulgor,_ ” snapped Aelia.  
  
“Fine, three fingers. Look, Acylius, it’s just not something that friends do, okay?” Fulgor tried to prop himself up on one elbow.  
  
“Just…trust me on this. Don’t go around hugging people.”  
  
“You make this sound like something I make a habit of,” huffed Acylius. He folded his arms, feeling hurt and a little embarrassed. Clearly he had made some sort of gaffe, but there was no need for Fulgor to make such a fuss. “Yuks aren’t encouraged to be free about such things, you know.”  
  
Fulgor spluttered. “I _hope_ not!”  
  
“Fulgor, _stop it._ You know it must not mean the same to Acylius as it does to us.” Aelia’s voice was developing a definite edge. Acylius could certainly understand _that_. His own anger was starting to rise.  
  
“Perhaps Fulgor would care to enlighten me as to what it _does_ mean,” he said, a little coolly.  
  
Fulgor opened his mouth, but Aelia cut him off. “Among Joyces, hugging is an indication of a very close and trusting relationship,” she said. “You can’t fly when someone is hugging you.”  
  
Acylius felt himself stand up a little straighter. “I see.” Well, that stung. He’d thought that he and Fulgor _were_ close. Clearly he was wrong.  
  
“Oh, for—” Fulgor groaned, getting slowly to his feet. “It’s a _couple thing_.” Acylius felt his mouth drop open. As the implications of that statement sank in, he felt his face heat—and not with anger. A _couple thing._ And Aelia had seen...  
  
Oh, _soggy fog and maudlin mist._ No wonder she had sounded so strange.  
  
As though he hadn’t made Acylius’s mistake abundantly clear already, Fulgor went on pointedly, “You should be hugging _Aelia,_ not me.”  
  
“I understand, thank you,” said Acylius stiffly.  
  
“Just as long as we’re clear.”  
  
“Oh, _stop it,_ ” snapped Aelia, rounding on her brother. “ _You_ don’t get to lecture Acylius about Joyce romantic behaviour. Not after the music session. And _especially_ not after the tour around the flowers.”  
  
Acylius’s stomach dropped. “Those were romantic gestures as well?” he asked. Aelia _had_ seemed a little cross both times, but he’d thought it was just part of her usual annoyance with Fulgor.  
  
Aelia flinched, as though she had forgotten that he was there. She turned to him, but she didn’t meet his eyes. “Listening to Fulgor play wasn’t,” she said. Acylius had the impression that she was choosing her words very carefully. “The flowers were…pushing it a little.”  
  
Acylius covered his face with his hands. “Aelia, I don’t know what to say—”  
  
“You don’t have to say anything. I know that you didn’t understand.”  
_  
But you were annoyed, and I didn’t ask why._ The words utterly failed to leave Acylius’s mouth; he couldn’t get them to fit past the guilt that was closing his throat. He _should_ have asked. But he had been enjoying himself, and he hadn’t wanted to spoil things by triggering another sibling quarrel. Aelia and Fulgor always seemed to be bickering about something or other...  
  
Acylius swallowed, letting his hands fall away from his face. That was no excuse. He _should_ have asked.  
  
“Look, there’s an easy solution to this,” said Fulgor, into the tightly stretched silence. “Acylius, you just go over there and hug Yaya, and this will all—”  
  
“ _Don’t you dare._ ” Aelia sucked in a thin breath, like there wasn’t enough room inside her for anger _and_ air. “Don’t you _dare_ , Fulgor. You can’t just tell someone to…to _be romantic_ and expect it to fix everything!” Her voice shook on the words _be romantic_. Acylius’s heart clenched painfully, and he took a step towards her with hand outstretched.  
  
“Aelia, I’m so sorry—”  
  
She shook her head fiercely. “No! Don’t apologize. It isn’t your fault. It’s Fulgor’s.”  
  
“I didn’t mean—” Fulgor finally seemed to have grasped the depths of his mistake, but Aelia clearly wasn’t in the mood to accept an apology.  
  
“Of course you didn’t mean it,” she said, with bitter, angry resignation. “You never _mean_ it. But you spoil things anyway. You always do.”  
  
“Don’t be like that. It’s not like you can never do those things with Acylius—”  
  
“And how do you think it will feel, knowing that you did those things with him _first?_ It won’t be—” She stopped, took another deep breath. Then, softly, she said, “It won’t be the same.” She turned away from them both. “I’m going to start working on patching paint. A lot of the bees and the dragonflies got caught in the Kloud, and they won’t be able to fly until they’ve got their kolors back.”  
  
Acylius took another step towards her. “Aelia—”  
  
She wavered for a moment, but didn’t turn back around. “Thank you for coming to help, Acylius. Could you make sure that Fulgor makes it to the springs? He might be a little dizzy.”  
  
Acylius watched her helplessly. Her wings were beating unevenly, a slow and erratic rhythm that he suspected was unconscious. He noticed that her own kolors were slightly dimmed by the dissipating Kloud.  At least, he hoped it was the result of the Kloud. Did Joyces lose their kolors when they were upset?  
  
“I will,” he said. It seemed like the only safe thing to say.  
  
She hesitated a moment as though trying to think of a reply, then nodded once and took off into the clearing sky. Acylius watched her until she was out of sight, then groaned and buried his head in his hands.    
  
“I’m sorry,” said Fulgor from behind him. He sounded as despondent as Acylius had ever heard him. “I really didn’t mean to mess things up for you both. I was just trying to get Aelia to make some kind of move.”  
  
Acylius thought about being angry. The situation seemed to call for it. But he couldn’t quite muster the energy: he was tired from his desperate flight to Flower City and his equally desperate dive to save Fulgor, not to mention the emotional rollercoaster of the last twenty minutes. He didn’t seem to have any strength left for anger.  
  
He did, however, have the strength to be sure of one thing: somehow, he would have to make this up to Aelia. His ignorance may have been genuine, but so was her hurt.  
  
“I must make this right,” he said aloud.  
  
“I’ll help,” said Fulgor eagerly, but Acylius shook his head.  
  
“Fulgor, I mean no offence, but you did play a large part in _causing_ this problem. I think it would be for the best if I fixed it myself.”  
  
“And how are you going to do that?” asked Fulgor, sounding more curious than miffed.  
  
“I don’t know yet. But I will think of something.” Acylius shook himself and turned to his friend. “In the meantime, we should go over to the springs so that you can get clean.”  
  
Fulgor snorted. “I’m not the only one who could do with a scrub.”  
  
Acylius looked down at himself, realising for the first time that he was also lightly coated in koal juice. “Thorns and briars,” he muttered, regarding the patina mournfully. “I don’t suppose this will wear off over time?” He didn’t want to waste time cleaning off the muck. He wanted to be alone so that he could think about what to do for Aelia.  
  
“No, it just dries into a black crust. You can get some interesting effects if you scrape it off then, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”  
_  
Scrape it off._ The phrase triggered a memory, and Acylius felt his antennae stand straight up. It was perfect. He’d just have to find it again…  
  
“Acylius?”  
  
“I know what to do,” said Acylius, feeling slightly light-headed with sheer relief. “Come on. We don’t have much time.”  
  
“What do you mean, ‘we don’t have much time’?” demanded Fulgor, baffled. “It’s only noon!”  
  
“Yes, but there’s something that I need to find, back at the Stump. I know that I hid it somewhere, but I haven’t dared to bring it out in…” Acylius paused, trying to remember. It had been one of his earliest attempts at tunnelling… “Well, a very long time.”  
  
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” asked Fulgor with concern. “I mean, we hit the ground pretty hard, and you’re not making any sense.”  
  
“Never you mind.” Acylius sprang into the air. “The only thing that you need to worry about is scrubbing off the koal juice. Can you fly?”  
  
Fulgor fluttered his wings experimentally. Their beating seemed slower than usual. “I think so,” he said, voice slightly strained, “But I might need your help.” He gave a little hop that did absolutely nothing to get him airborne.  
  
Acylius extended a hand, then hesitated. “This isn’t…”  
  
“No, this is normal if you’re helping someone.” Acylius still hesitated, and Fulgor made an exasperated sound. “If you don’t believe me, just look around you! And do it fast. If we don’t hurry there won’t be any room left in the springs.” Acylius glanced up. Around them, he could see other Joyces rising into the air in twos and threes. The karbon-darkened Joyces held the hands and forelimbs of their unscathed friends. Acylius relaxed slightly and reached down. Fulgor took his hand.  
  
“Are you going to question everything we do, now?” the Joyce asked, as they headed in the direction of the springs.  
  
“Possibly,” said Acylius. “You really don’t have anyone to blame but yourself, you know.”  
  
Fulgor made a face at him. 

 

* * *

 

  
The sun was visibly dipping towards the horizon by the time that Acylius returned to Flower City. It hadn’t been hard to sneak back in; the aftermath of another failed attempt on the Great Flower was always chaotic. The guards were too busy helping Krabouic and Kaboche manoeuvre the crumpled cockpit of the Koal Kloud Kreator back into the hanger to notice Acylius slipping through the unguarded gates. Finding the item had been more of a challenge. Still, he’d only had to check the sites of four or five of his earlier excavations before he found it—slightly grimy, but still sparkling even in the dim light of the torches.  
  
He snuck back out again while Teknocratus and the guards were trying to open up the mangled cockpit so that the pilots could escape. From the shouted complaints, Kaboche was sitting in Krabouic’s lap to avoid the spinning blade wielded by the engineer, and elbows were proving to be a problem.  
  
Joyceland was only mildly less chaotic as Acylius glided down to the Great Flower. The remains of the machine had been removed, but its crash landing had bent and broken a swathe of plants, and the Kloud itself had left a dark stain on the landscape. The bright dots of Joyce workers swarmed over it, doing…well, Acylius wasn’t sure. Something to save the flowers, he hoped.  
  
Aelia’s bright blue wings were not among the workers.  
  
Acylius turned his gift over in his hands as he slowly made his way through the quiet corridors of Flower City. He’d removed the worst of the dirt, but hadn’t dared to scrub too hard in case it removed the strange, shiny tarnish. Would Aelia like it? It was, after all…well, it was a rock. An unusual rock, but…a rock. Even with its peculiar, shifting patina, it lacked the grace and beauty of the flowers that Aelia had shown him.  
_  
She showed you living creations of unparalleled wonder, and you’re giving her a piece of rock that you dug up and clung to because it was the first colourful thing you’d seen in the Stump. Hardly comparable in value, is it?_  
  
Acylius shook his head violently, like he could dislodge the thought with movement.  It was too late to second guess himself; this was the only acceptable path forward. All the others involved asking Fulgor for advice about Joyce courtship, and that was just not going to happen. Acylius would have to succeed or fail on his own merits.  
  
He hoped, rather desperately, that he had some.  
  
The door to Aelia’s laboratory was before him. Acylius swallowed, took a deep breath, and very cautiously turned the handle. The _click_ of the latch sliding free seemed very loud.  
  
“Aelia?” he called.  
  
There was a gasp, a scrape, and then a ringing _thump_ as something hit the floor. Acylius winced. This wasn’t exactly an auspicious beginning to the conversation.  
  
“May I—” he began.  
  
“Come on in, Acylius.” Aelia sounded tired and resigned, and Acylius’s heart sank all the way to his toes. It was on his lips to say that he could come back later, if she was busy, but he forced the words down and pushed the door open. Aelia was kneeling on the floor, head under her bench, apparently trying to retrieve something that had rolled underneath. Acylius tucked his gift behind his back.  
  
“You’ve…been busy, I see,” he said, inanely. The bench was covered in a dozen shades of powdered pollen, and a dozen more of half-dried pigment. It looked like the dragonflies had used it for bombing practice.  
  
Aelia came out from underneath it, holding a stained pestle in one hand. She stood up slowly. “I should clean up,” she said, not turning around. “I think I’ve made enough paint to last the rest of the _year._ ” She gingerly placed the pestle in a mortar half-full of pollen powder, then moved the mortar to one of the bench’s few remaining clean patches.  
  
“I’m sure it will be useful,” said Acylius, trying to sound enthusiastic. His gift felt as though it was trying to slip from his hands. He tightened his grip until its surface dug into his palms.  
  
“One way or another,” said Aelia.  
  
Acylius winced.  
  
He was almost sure that he hadn’t made a sound, but Aelia hurried on as though she’d heard him. “I mean, we’re almost guaranteed to run out during the Festival of Kolors, plus there’s always some kind of unexpected occasion that needs extra decoration. And you’d be surprised how much ordinary wear and tear—”  
  
Acylius steeled himself. “Aelia,” he ventured.  
  
She slumped. “I’m sorry about before,” she said.  
  
Acylius blinked. “But, Aelia—”  
  
“You couldn’t be expected to realise what…those things meant.”  
  
“Aelia—”  
  
“I should have said something, or at least had a word with Fulgor. It wasn’t fair of him to keep misleading you, and I should have put a stop to it.”  
  
“Aelia—”  
  
“I’ll understand if you don’t—”  
  
Acylius lurched forward and put a hand on her arm. “Aelia!”  
  
She turned to look at him. Acylius swallowed. “I knew that you were annoyed with Fulgor for what he was doing,” he said. “I should have asked why. You’re right that I didn’t know what those actions meant, but even if it was unintentional…I still hurt you. I really can’t express how sorry I am for that.”  
  
Aelia shook her head. “I still should have said something,” she said, stubbornly.  
  
“And I should have asked, and Fulgor should have known better,” said Acylius, trying to smile. “Perhaps we could all accept an equal share of the blame?” She looked like she might try to keep arguing, so he hurried on. “Actually, I—I have something for you.” Swallowing hard against the anxious tightness of his throat, Acylius brought his gift out from behind his back and held it out to Aelia. Her eyes widened. Acylius tilted the rock so that she could see the way the colours shifted with movement, green-blue becoming blue becoming purple, with a few edges glowing gold.  
  
“Oh, _Acylius,_ ” she said, voice hushed with something that sounded very like awe. _“_ It’s _beautiful._ ”  
  
Acylius’s knees went weak with relief. “It’s a Yuk courtship tradition, to give your, um, object of affection a special rock,” he said. “It’s usually something rare, a fragment of coal or a piece of iron ore, but… I didn’t think you would like those.”  
  
Aelia gently took the rock from his hands, turning it over and watching the shifting colours with rapt fascination. “I didn’t know that rocks could have colours like this,” she said. “And this iridescent effect, I’ve never seen anything like it!”  
  
“I found it during one of my first attempts at tunnelling,” Acylius said. “It wasn’t like this when I dug it out, I would have noticed. I think something about being out in the air, rather than under the ground, made it turn these colours.”  
  
Aelia glanced up. “How could that be?” The question was more curious than sceptical.  
  
“I don’t know,” admitted Acylius. “Teknocratus said that the colours could be scraped off, but it would have to be kept underwater to stop them from coming back. I don’t know if that would have worked, I took it back and buried it again before they could try.” He reached out and ran one finger over the stone’s rough surface. “It was the first colourful thing I had seen in the Stump. I couldn’t bear the thought that it might be ruined, even if stopping that meant I wouldn’t be able to see it for myself.”  
  
The silence seemed to stretch out. Afraid that he’d said something wrong, Acylius glanced up to find that Aelia was staring at him with peculiar intensity. “Um,” he said.  
  
She set the rock down on her workbench and fluttered towards him. “Acylius,” she said, very seriously, “I want to hug you. Is that okay?”  
  
His mouth dropped open. “What? I mean—yes, certainly, if that’s what you want, but I don’t see—”  
  
The rest of his sentence was cut off as Aelia’s arms slipped around his waist and held him tightly. At least, it seemed to be tightly—perhaps that it was just that all of Acylius’s breath seemed to have left him. His entire field of vision was filled with the marbled purples and blues of Aelia’s wings. He also had no idea where to put his hands.  
  
Aelia seemed to have read his mind. “Here.” Gently, she took one of his arms and tucked it around her own waist. He could feel the edges of her wings fluttering against his forearm as he copied her movement with his other arm. She had also tucked her forehead into his shoulder—her antennae brushed the side of his head. Tentatively, Acylius mirrored the movement. She smelled like pollen and perfume.  
  
“That’s it,” he heard her say, over the pounding of his heart. “You’re a natural.”  
  
They stood like that for—well, Acylius wasn’t sure how long. Certainly not long enough. He could happily have spent days holding Aelia—or hours, at the very least. But he felt Aelia drawing away, and reluctantly released his own hold on her. The sudden feeling of isolation was considerably lessened when she took both of his hands in hers.  
  
“That was…amazing,” he said, breathlessly.  
  
She smiled at him. “It was, wasn’t it?”  
  
Acylius glanced over at the rock he’d brought, still setting on Aelia’s workbench. Placed among the bright splashes of pigment, it looked dirty and washed out. “I feel like my gift hardly compares.”  
  
“Don’t be silly,” said Aelia. “I love it. I can’t wait to show it to Papa—I bet he’s never seen anything like it, either.” Acylius hummed, still unconvinced, and Aelia squeezed his hands. “Acylius. I really am glad that you brought it to me. You keep showing me how much more there is to the Yuks than I ever thought.”  
  
Acylius looked back at her. “I do?”  
  
“Of course you do! I never would have guessed that Yuks had their own courtship traditions.” She ducked her head, then gave him a slightly sheepish smile. “I didn’t really think about it. It seems odd to think of, but the underlying principle is the same as the gifts we give—something special or unusual.”  
  
Acylius blinked. “I didn’t think of it like that.”  
  
“The actions are different, but the reasons are the same,” said Aelia. “I hope you’ll tell me about the other traditions as well?” The hopeful curiosity in her voice made Acylius smile.  
  
“Of course I will,” he said. He glanced down at their joined hands. “Though I quite like the Joyce traditions, as well.”  
  
“Me too,” said Aelia. She made a face. “I guess that Fulgor didn’t spoil this for us after all.”  
  
“No,” said Acylius, firmly. “It would be impossible for anything to compare to that.” Hugging Fulgor had been an act of sheer relief. Hugging Aelia was…he didn’t know a word that would fully describe that feeling of joy and awe and wonder. He would have to ask, later.  
  
“I suppose I’ll have to tell him that,” muttered Aelia.  
  
“Not now, I hope?”  
  
“Absolutely not. He can stew in it for a while longer.”  
  
“I quite agree.” Acylius was still feeling a little cross at being deceived, even if it had been with good intentions. Though that did trigger a thought… He squeezed Aelia’s hands gently. “If it isn’t too soon to suggest it…I would like it if _you_ would show me around your flowers. I don’t think that Fulgor fully appreciates them.”  
  
“I _know_ he doesn’t,” said Aelia. “Almost everything he told you was complete nonsense.”  
  
Acylius sighed. “I suppose I should have known.”  
  
Aelia shook her head. “Honestly, apart from him misleading you, that was what annoyed me the most. And I don’t even know if he was making it up because he thought it was funny, or because he really wasn’t paying attention when I told him about them.”  
  
“Because he thought it was funny, I hope,” said Acylius. “But I can certainly promise that _I_ will pay full attention.”  
  
“I know you will,” said Aelia affectionately. “But it’s a bit late to go today. The sun will have set, and most of the flowers will be closed. I suppose that I _could_ play some of my own music for you, but…” Her hands slid up Acylius’s arms. “I’d rather hug you again.”  
  
Acylius slid his arms around her waist. “Happy to oblige.”


	11. lover100 #71: Lugubrious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The differences between Yukdom and Joyceland run deeper than just music, flowers and kolors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-compliant; set just after _The Eskape_ and before _Planet Karbon_.
> 
> The Joyces that Fulgor and Aelia refer to are two of the dragonfly squadron; their call signs are Tango-Zulu and Oscar-Papa.

The day that Prince Acylius came to Flower City was an educational one for Aelia. She didn’t usually like to be wrong—Fulgor never let her forget it—but that day, she was glad to be. She learned that Yuks were not uniformly destructive, that at least one of them was capable of appreciating flowers as more than fuel for war machines, and that it was entirely possible for a Yuk to be happy about something other than ruining a Joyce’s day. That last discovery had led to another, which Aelia would be keeping to herself: the laughter of Prince Acylius as he looped joyfully across the sky was the nicest sound that she had ever heard. It made her feel warm and fluttery, and glad that Fulgor was more focused on their new friend than he was on her, or he would have noticed something and teased her mercilessly.

It was just a pity that Acylius’s laughter kept being cut short by startled yelps as he lost control of his flight and began another uncontrolled dive. After the prince’s second tumble into one of the tulips that grew around the base of the Great Flower (after the first, Aelia had promised herself that the next flower cultivar she created would be another tulip, in thanks), they agreed that something would have to change.

“Most beginners try flying straight before going into loops and spirals like that,” said Fulgor teasingly. “Maybe we should try that.”

Acylius, still panting, managed to looked sheepish. “Yes, that might be a good idea. I suspect I have been a little ambitious.”

“Just a little,” said Aelia. “Are you alright?” She couldn’t help drifting a little closer to the flower.

“Perfectly fine,” Acylius said, swallowing. His breathing began to even out. “I’m sorry, Aelia. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Ambition isn’t a bad thing, but let’s try something a little simpler so that you can build up your confidence.” She smiled at him. “I’m sure you’ll be turning loops in no time, but you can’t do that if you’re laid up with a strained wing. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Fulgor, who was hovering on the other side of the flower and out of Acylius’s sight, pretended silently to gag, and then grinned at Aelia’s responding scowl. Acylius, glancing from one to the other, wisely chose not to involve himself. After a brief discussion, they relocated to the daisy patch, not far from where Acylius had abandoned the Koa.

“It’s a good place for basic practice,” explained Aelia, in response to Acylius’s question. “The flowers are nice and broad, so there’s less chance of a long fall, and the centres are quite soft.”

“You’ll want to aim for them if you’re coming in too quickly for a safe landing,” added Fulgor. “They’ll absorb the impact. You might end up covered in pollen again, though.”

“I don’t mind,” said Acylius. “I’d rather be covered in pollen than mud.”

“Really?” said Fulgor. “I’d rather be covered in mud. Pollen gets up your nose and in your eyes.”

Acylius looked vaguely alarmed. Aelia snickered. “Only if you dive into it face-first,” she said.

Fulgor tried to look dignified. “Sometimes,” he said, “face-planting just _happens._ ”

“Yes,” said Aelia, trying and failing to sound stern. “Especially when you decide that a triple loop is an excellent way to come out of a corkscrew. I’d never seen anyone fly face-first into a bluebell before.” She turned to Acylius. “Bluebells point downwards,” she explained. “Usually, to fly straight into one, you’d have to approach from the ground.”

Acylius’s mouth shaped a silent ‘oh’, and he nodded his understanding.

Fulgor rolled his eyes. “ _Anyway._ Let’s practice turning. Keep an eye on your height while you lean into it, or you’ll drift downwards and maybe run into something.”

“While you’re starting, it’s best to stay a good distance above any potential obstacle,” added Aelia. “Just in case.”

With Aelia on one side and Fulgor on the other, Acylius flew back and forth across the daisy patch. They started with broad, shallow curves—more veering than turning, Fulgor said—then gradually increased the length and angle. Acylius took each one with an expression of deep concentration that Aelia found endearing, and each successful pass made him grin with an almost childish delight. Aelia couldn’t help giggling as she praised him for his achievements, and even Fulgor couldn’t suppress a grin.

“Alright,” he said eventually. “Let’s see if we can turn all the way around. Keep it tight, Acylius.”

“Right,” the prince muttered, and leaned. He had managed almost the complete turn, in as tight and flat a circle as his teachers could have wished, when he wobbled, yelped, and began to dip towards the daisies. Aelia gasped, but before she or Fulgor could dive for him, Acylius struggled back up again with a few frantic wingbeats. He panted for a moment, and now that the risk of a fall was gone, Aelia couldn’t help giggling a little. Acylius gave her a sheepish smile, which only made her giggle harder.

“I lost my rhythm,” he said, apologetically. “I still have to think about it.”

Aelia managed to get her laughter under control. “Don’t worry,” she said as soothingly as she could. “It will become automatic with practice. And even the best fliers sometimes stop mid-wingbeat if they’re really surprised.”

Fulgor started to chuckle. “And sometimes only one wing will stop while the other keeps going, and then you end up spinning like a top. Remember when Orpah asked Teezee—”

Aelia burst out laughing. “Yes! She was so surprised that she spiralled nearly to the ground before she levelled out! And poor Orpah was circling in the opposite direction—”

“And everyone watching thought that they’d skipped straight to courtship dancing, and it was days before anyone believed that they had only just arranged their first date!”

Aelia clapped her hands over her mouth in an attempt to control her laughter. It was probably more than the memory deserved, but that didn’t seem very important at the moment. Especially when Fulgor was laughing just as hard, the both of them cackling like lunatics, while Acylius—

Aelia glanced at Acylius. The expression on his face was a mixture of concern and confusion and polite interest that was, for some reason, the funniest thing she had ever seen.

She hit the middle of a daisy with a thump that did nothing to jolt her out of her laughter. Golden pollen swirled up around her, and a tiny part of her was relieved that at least it wasn’t orange or pink. Warm yellow went reasonably well with her bluish-purple colouring, so she could probably get away without having to ask Papa to repaint her wings. That always took forever.

“Aelia! Are you alright?” That was Acylius, and his obvious distress at her ‘fall’ finally made the laughter taper off.

“I’m fine!” she called once she had her breath back, and pushed herself to her feet. “See? Daisies make excellent landing pads.” Her eyes were still blurry with tears, and she wiped at them. “And you just got an extra demonstration of how experienced fliers can still fall if they lose their focus…” She trailed off. Fulgor had regained control over himself sooner than she had, but now he had collapsed again, his legs kicking helplessly as he rocked back and forth in the air. And Acylius had a very peculiar expression on her face. “What is it?” she asked.

Fulgor pointed at her, but he was laughing too hard to speak. Aelia planted her hands on her hips. “Yes, I’m covered in pollen,” she said tartly. “What of it? It’s not the first time it’s happened, and it won’t be the last.”

“Aelia,” said Acylius, his voice oddly strained. “It’s—it’s your face…”

“My face?” Aelia put a hand to her cheek—then paused. Her hands were covered in yellow pollen from when she had pushed herself up off the flower. Which meant… “Oh, sputtering sparks,” she said. Random smears from wiping her face were very different to the almost-artful swirls that her impromptu landing had given her wings. She must look a sight.

Acylius’s self-control broke, and he started to laugh just as hard and as loudly as Fulgor. Aelia rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, laugh it up,” she said, with exaggerated exasperation. “I’m so glad that I can amuse you.” This had its expected effect on Fulgor—redoubled laughter and no sign of any apology—but Acylius stopped laughing as though she had hit him. He looked appalled, and for the life of her, Aelia couldn’t figure out why. She had _liked_ hearing Acylius laugh; she hadn’t wanted him to stop.

The sudden silence from the prince had brought Fulgor out of his own fit. “Hey, what’s the matter?” he asked.

“I—” began Acylius, then stuck. His appalled look had faded into shame—the same look that had been on his face by the mud puddle earlier, when she had shouted at him about lying to her. Aelia’s stomach twisted. She didn’t want to see that look on Acylius’s face ever again, especially not over something so harmless.

She bent, grabbed a double handful of yellow, and let fly. One flew straight over Fulgor’s head—her left hand was definitely less coordinated than her right—but the other hit him straight in the chest, just as she had intended. It left a bright sunburst on his orange carapace, and an expression of stunned surprise on his face.

Aelia started to giggle again, just managing to get out, “ _Now_ who’s laughing?”

Fulgor looked down at himself and groaned. “ _Aelia!_ ”

“What? It serves you right. And besides, I think it looks rather good. Don’t you think so, Acylius?”

Acylius looked almost as shocked as Fulgor—but at least he didn’t look guilty anymore. “Um, I suppose?” he said, hesitantly.

Aelia thrust one fist in the air, and laughed harder at the disgruntled look on Fulgor’s face. “Oh sure,” her brother said. “Side with _her._ Just remember that you brought this on yourself.”

Acylius blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Aelia gasped as Fulgor dived for the nearest daisy. “Acylius, move!”

The Yuk prince gave her a startled look, but dodged to one side. He wasn’t quite fast enough. The clump of blue pollen that Fulgor had thrown hit him on the shoulder. He yelped and spun in mid-air, trying desperately to regain his balance. Aelia grabbed another two handfuls of yellow pollen and launched herself into the air. Fulgor rose to meet her, a fistful of kolor in each hand. They circled one another, each trying to get into a position where they could launch their missiles without opening themselves to attack.

“That was a dirty trick,” Fulgor said.

“What? Dirtier than launching an unprovoked attack on an amateur flier?” Since she was facing the right direction, Aelia was kept half an eye on Acylius. He had managed to steady himself without crashing into any of the daisies, but he didn’t seem to know what to do. Rather than arming himself and joining the fray, he was hovering uncertainly out of range.

Aelia’s moment of inattention cost her. When she saw the clump of kolor speeding towards her, she only had time to twist so that it exploded against her hip rather than her stomach.

“Two points to me!” declared Fulgor triumphantly.

“The game’s not over yet!” Aelia shot back, hoping that Acylius would hear her and understand. She beat her wings harder, climbing as fast as she could.

“What’s the matter? Running away?” taunted Fulgor. “I don’t blame you. Even two against one isn’t a fair fight when the one is _me._ ”

“With your swelled head, you’re twice the target!” retorted Aelia. Folding her wings, she dived for her brother. He spun out of the way, but Aelia had been prepared for that. She snapped her left wing open all the way, keeping the right one only partly extended. She spun with her brother, and threw. Both of her makeshift kolor bombs struck home, and she whooped. Then she had to focus on steadying herself before she spiralled into another daisy. When she felt reasonably sure that she was properly upright and not careening sideways, she lifted her head and pointed at Fulgor. “Three points!” she shouted.

Fulgor opened his mouth to reply—and yelped as one pollen clump whizzed past him, and a second hit him on the shoulder and exploded in a burst of pink. Aelia turned to see Acylius standing on a pink daisy, kolored to the elbows and already with another two clumps in hand.

“Er,” he said. “Four points?”

Aelia laughed in delight and dived for the nearest daisy to reload.

* * *

 

The Great Pyro found them as the sun was setting, and promptly send them off to the springs to get themselves cleaned up. All three were so thoroughly splattered with pollen that Fulgor had made a joke about calling in the bees to collect from them, since they clearly counted as flowers now. Aelia rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder, telling him to stop spreading misinformation. Pollen collection did _not_ work that. Fulgor had pretended to spin out of control, but Aelia only shrugged and flew on. To her satisfaction, Acylius didn’t pause for more than a moment before following her. Several times during their play fight, Fulgor had caught Acylius out with similar deceptions, and it looked like the Yuk prince was learning to tell the difference between controlled and uncontrolled falls.

When Fulgor caught up to them again, he was pouting, and he complained that Aelia and Acylius were no fun. This made them both giggle, and Fulgor looked even more put-out. It was a good thing that they had reached the springs at that point, before Aelia and Acylius could start laughing hard enough to fall out of the sky again. As it was, Fulgor took himself off to the other end of the springs, where he could sulk in peace.

“Don’t worry about him,” said Aelia, as Acylius glanced after him. “He’ll be over it in ten minutes, and then he’ll be back to pester us some more.” She scooped water over his shoulder, rubbing gently to dislodge the pigment. “Did you have fun?”

“I did, yes,” said Acylius, sounding almost surprised. Aelia couldn’t stop another giggle from escaping her.

“Are you sure? You don’t sound sure,” she said.

He seemed to miss the teasing tone. “I’m sure that I had fun,” he said slowly. “I’m just not certain that I should have.”

It took Aelia a moment to parse the statement. She stopped scrubbing at Acylius’s shoulder and leaned around him to get a good look at his face. He looked pensive. “You’re not sure whether you should have had fun?” Aelia asked, baffled. “Why not? It was just a game. Haven’t you ever played something like that before?”

“I haven’t, but that wasn’t what I meant.” Aelia sucked in a shocked breath, but before she could say anything, Acylius went on, “It was…the way that things started.”

“The way that things started?” Her stomach dropped. “You mean with me throwing that pollen at Fulgor?” She hadn’t realised that it had bothered him that much. And then she had pulled him into it too by asking his opinion on how Fulgor looked with the pollen splatter…

“Er, no,” said Acylius, sounding slightly confused. “That was perfectly understandable. I meant…” He trailed off, and then Aelia felt him straighten slightly, as though he was steeling himself to say something unpleasant. “I meant the way that Fulgor and I were laughing at you because of the pollen on your face. It wasn’t very nice of us.”

Aelia stared at him. He was holding himself very stiffly, as though bracing himself for some kind of reprimand, and she couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing, backing up a step so that she could wrap her arms around her middle. She heard sloshing as Acylius turned around, probably to stare at her in disbelief, and she tried to get herself under control. It took a few moments.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” she said, wiping at her eyes again. “I don’t mind at all. It _was_ pretty funny. You’d think that since I’d just pushed myself up, I’d remember that I’d have pollen all over my hands.”

Acylius _was_ staring at her in complete disbelief. “You don’t _mind_ that we were laughing at you?”

“But you weren’t really laughing at _me,_ ” said Aelia. “You were laughing at the _situation._ That’s a very different thing.”

Acylius blinked at her. “It is?”

“Of course! We’re friends, Acylius. I knew that you weren’t being mean.” She snorted, and added, “I wasn’t so sure about Fulgor. That’s why I threw the pollen at him.”

Her joke did not have its intended effect. Acylius looked, if possible, even more confused than before. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. How can it _not_ be cruel to laugh at someone else’s misfortune?”

Aelia’s amusement died. “Is that the only reason that someone would laugh, in the Stump? To mock someone else?”

“Er,” said Acylius. “Perhaps not the _only_ reason, but it’s certainly the most common. I understand that one can laugh at some _thing_ without meaning for it to belittle someone else, but… It always seemed unfair, to laugh at some _one_ for a mistake or something beyond their control.”

“Oh,” said Aelia. Inwardly, she vowed that she would _never_ let Acylius be taken back to the City of Shadows if she could help it. She’d known that it was horrible, but this was on another level entirely. “It isn’t quite like that here,” she said. “You can laugh at someone without being mean about it. Sometimes you can be _annoying_ about it—Fulgor’s very good at that—but for something like the pollen, I know that he doesn’t…” She paused for a moment, trying to figure out the right words. Acylius had used ‘belittle’, so… “I know that he doesn’t think any less of me,” she said finally. “Any more than I think less of him when I laughed because I hit him with the pollen clump. Friends can laugh at each other without hurting feelings—even play tricks on one another, so long as nobody gets hurt.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Fulgor and I do it all the time, especially if one of us has annoyed the other. It gets us both to laugh, and then we don’t need to be annoyed anymore.”

Acylius was silent for a moment as he absorbed this. Then he shook his head, not quite looking at her. “It’s so much more different here than I thought,” he said.

“In a good way, I hope,” said Aelia. He looked up at her, and she smiled at him. After a moment, he smiled back.

“Certainly in a good way,” he said. “It’s just more extensive than I thought. I wanted to come to Flower City because I knew that there would be flowers and kolors and music, but I didn’t know that there would even be differences in why you would laugh.” He shook his head. “Not that you hear much of that, in the Stump. I think I heard more laughter in five minutes of our game than I would hear in a whole year in Yukdom. Hardly a place conducive to amusement. It’s so dreary; nothing but the sounds of mining and the dripping of the water coming in, and all the tunnels look the same.”

“I know,” said Aelia. Acylius looked startled, and she explained, “Fulgor got himself captured not long ago, and I had to go rescue him. I was only there for a little while, but I don’t know how much longer I could have stood it. I _certainly_ don’t know how anyone could live there. It’s just so…depressing.”

Acylius smiled a wry smile. “You know, when Krabo locked me in my room this morning, I told him that. That it was depressing, I mean. And he told me that my finding it depressing was excellent news. Apparently, I was showing progress.” He was trying to make light of it, Aelia could tell, but the words still made her heart clench. She wanted, suddenly, to put her arms around Acylius and just hold him, and she felt her face heat. It was entirely too early to be considering _that_ kind of thing. So instead, she stepped forward again and gently touched his arm.

 “I’m so glad that you escaped,” she said.

He smiled at her. “So am I,” he said. “I certainly never imagined meeting anyone like you, Aelia.”

Aelia’s stomach fluttered pleasantly. “I never thought I’d meet anyone like you, either.”

“Are you guys done?” asked Fulgor’s voice from behind them and Aelia froze. “Or are you just going to coo at one another until the moons come up?” Aelia turned. Her brother was hovering above the surface of the springs with an expression of exaggerated disgust, and she couldn’t help scowling at him.

“You’re one to talk,” she told him. “You could do with a little more scrubbing. There’s still a patch of pink on your right side.” True, it was only faint, but it was still _visible_. And it clashed badly with Fulgor’s natural orange.

He stuck his tongue out at her. “It’ll wear off in a day or two. Nobody else is going to notice. But you two don’t look like you’ve done anything but talk since we got here.”

Aelia could feel her scowl deepening. That was a blatant exaggeration—Acylius was now mostly clean, and the only pollen left on Aelia was on her wings, and she was going to need Papa to paint over that.

Behind her, Acylius cleared his throat. “Well, perhaps you could assist us?” he asked, tentatively. He waded around to Aelia’s side and extended a hand. “There must have been places that you had trouble reaching by yourself. If I worked on those while Aelia helps me with the spot under my wings…”

Fulgor made a show of considering. Aelia tried to decide whether or not she should be annoyed with Acylius for being so sensible. Before she could make up her mind, Fulgor nodded magnanimously and took Acylius’s hand.

Acylius pulled hard and Fulgor yelped, tumbling down into the water. Aelia took a step backwards to get out of reach of her brother’s mad thrashing. She could feel the puzzled expression on her face as she looked at Acylius. He returned her look with one of complete innocence, while Fulgor spluttered and wiped the water out of his eyes.

“Well, you did say that he could do with some more scrubbing,” he said. “And now you don’t need to be annoyed with him.”

Aelia started to laugh.


	12. lover100 #14: Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a prince, Acylius has certain responsibilities towards his people.Of course, that doesn't mean that he and Aelia can't have a little fun along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set immediately post- _The Kure_. This scene was originally supposed to be part of an as-yet-unfinished one-shot called Bad Medicine, which would show how Acylius managed to talk the Yuks into using Joyce medicine, but it was difficult to transition from the flirting to the actual plot. So it became this!

All things considered, Aelia took the destruction around the crashed Koleopter surprisingly well. Acylius had already apologised profusely when he explained what had happened, but when he saw Aelia wince, he felt compelled to repeat himself.

“I truly am sorry about this,” he said, indicating the slashed and koal-juice-splattered landscape in front of them. “If I had ever thought that a war machine could help to gather pollen, I would have paid more attention in my lessons.”

Aelia shook her head. “Don’t worry about it,” she said with a sigh. “It’s not like we’re not used to cleaning up this kind of mess. Just…don’t do it again, okay?”

“I think that I can safely promise that,” said Acylius. Being responsible for such destruction once was quite enough. If preventing it from happening again meant paying proper attention in his flight lessons, then he would pay attention—though nothing was going to persuade him to learn to use the actual _weapons_ on the machines.

Aelia tugged at one of her antennae. “It might not be such a bad thing,” she said slowly. “I was working on some new flowers before all of this started. Maybe it’s time to put them to the test. And I have the samples of the golden-orange desert flower to work with, as well. It might be a good idea to develop a cultivar that will grow in the soil around here…just in case.”

Acylius gazed at her in admiration. “Aelia, have I mentioned lately how incredible you are?” Repair, development, _and_ preparation against a future disaster—all in a few sentences. Acylius could only hope that in time he would be half as good at seeing the opportunities in setbacks.

“Oh, just a few times in the last hour or so,” she said coyly, peering at him sidelong. “But you’re always welcome to tell me again.”

He laughed, leaning in for a moment to brush her antennae with his own. “You are incredible.”

She took his hand and squeezed. “So are you,” she whispered.

A barrage of laughter cut through the moment, and they reluctantly pulled away from one another to survey the Yuks in front of them. General Lukanus was chortling and twirling, apparently trying to perform a waltz with an invisible partner. The two pilots were spinning in graceful and ever-widening loops around the Peripatetik, having discovering that flying low over the spilled kolor would kick it into the air in a rainbow mist. Krabo was still in the Peripatetik’s cockpit, expression dark enough to turn kolor to karbon, but apparently his voice had given out. Acylius wasn’t precisely sorry about that. Krabo’s shouting could get shrill enough when he wasn’t sick, but the microbe had ensured that the Yuk prince had suffered a headache every time he’d had to listen to his tutor during the last four days. Some peace and quiet would be a welcome change.

“Are you sure that you want to take them all back with you right now?” asked Aelia dubiously.

“I can’t leave them here,” said Acylius. “Who knows what kind of damage they could do? To your flowers _or_ to themselves.” As though to prove his point, one of the pilots—Krabouic, Acylius thought—tried to throw his bike into a loop. Unfortunately, he forgot to accelerate, and as he reached what should have been the apex, his momentum gave out. For the briefest of moments, he seemed to hang suspended in the air. Then he and the bike both dropped to the ground with a mighty _thud._

Aelia gasped. Acylius sighed. Lukanus and the other pilot dissolved into fresh fits of laughter, and after a moment, Krabouic joined in.

“I see what you mean,” Aelia said.

Acylius nodded. “Regardless of my personal feelings towards them, I am their prince and it is my responsibility to see them safely home.” He looked down at the giggling trio and shook his head. “Some Yuks just can’t handle their kolor.”

“Well, just be careful,” said Aelia. “And…” She squeezed his hand again. “You’ll come back soon, won’t you? I missed you.”

Acylius lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “As soon as I can,” he promised. “I missed you, too.” Aelia smiled at him, filling him with a pleasant, tingling warmth. But before Acylius could say anything in reply, a loud cooing filled the air. They both turned, to see the remaining Yuk pilot gazing at them with hands clasped over his heart.

“Oh, _now_ what’s the matter?” demanded Krabo. Apparently his voice had not entirely given out after all. “Stop that noise at once!”

“It’s just so _beautiful,_ ” the pilot almost wailed. “Th-they, they just love each other _so much_ , it’s so _beautiful!_ ” He burst into loud tears.

Aelia and Acylius exchanged baffled glances.

“It certainly is not _beautiful!_ ” shouted Krabo. “Our prince should not be consorting with a Joyce! This is wrong, unnatural, disgusting!”

The pilot was entirely unmoved by this declaration. He almost threw himself off his hoverbike (which nosedived into the ground nearby, narrowly missing the giggling general) and onto the shoulder of his fellow pilot, where he proceeded to sob in—apparently—transports of complete joy.  Krabo growled, shaking his fists at the air, and glared up at Acylius and Aelia. “Now do you see what you’ve done? You’ve reduced one of the finest Yuk pilots to a mass of sentimental gibberish! Prince Acylius, you have a duty to uphold the dignity of the Yuk people! Don’t you see that what you’re doing is revolting? The hand-holding, the kissing, the mawkish declarations!” Krabo gagged. “Sentimentality has never been tolerated by the royal family! Are you really going to break thousands of years of tradition?”

Acylius turned to Aelia. “I thought that I already _had_ broken thousands of years of tradition. It seems I wasn’t trying hard enough.”

She giggled.

“Think of your mother, Acylius! How do you think that she would react if she were to hear of this?”

Acylius rolled his eyes. “As if my mother isn’t already well aware,” he said to Aelia. “Perhaps you should go. It isn’t going to get any better from here.”

“Prince Acylius, don’t you dare ignore me! I am your tutor! This is vital instruction in proper behaviour!”

Acylius gestured towards Krabo without looking. “You see.”

“If I had some on hand, I would have given you some headache medicine as well,” said Aelia, shaking her head. “Doesn’t he ever shut up?”

“Rarely. Don’t worry, I’ve learned to tune him out.”

Aelia lifted a hand to his face, and Acylius leaned into the contact. He was only partially motivated by defiance, though he couldn’t suppress a small smile when he heard Krabo’s wordless screech of rage. Aelia leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Someday, we’ll have to see if we can make his head explode from sheer outrage. If this is how he reacts to hand-holding, I’d love to see what he’d do when you dance with me.”

Acylius stifled a laugh. “Perhaps Fulgor could write some music to harmonise with his screaming.”

Aelia giggled and pressed a kiss to his nose. “I’ll suggest it to him. See you soon!”

Acylius couldn’t help the silly smile on his face as he watched her fly off. Sadly, duty called. He floated down to the Peripatetik. This wasn’t going to be easy, so it would be best to get started as soon as possible…and of course, once he got back, he would still have to talk his mother into allowing the use of Joyce medicine. That was going to be a challenge.

On the other hand, he could still feel Aelia’s kiss, warm on his nose, just as clearly as he could feel the cold blue medicine that still marked his chest. Both of them gave him strength.  He clapped his hands together. “Alright, gentlemen, let’s get back to the Stump,” he said. “Krabo, if I could have your assistance rounding up these three? We should get back as soon as possible.”

Krabo gave him a sulky look. “I will be mentioning this to your mother, my prince.”

“You’ll have to be fast. I have some rather urgent matters to discuss with her, myself,” said Acylius, completely unperturbed. Bakrakra’s estimation of Lord Krabo had been falling rather sharply lately. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

The Prime Minister tried to glare. Once upon a time, that might have made Acylius quail—but those days were long gone. He held Krabo’s eyes calmly, and after a moment, Krabo turned his head sharply and started to shout at the pilots. Acylius shook his head and fluttered over to talk to the General.

It would be hours before he managed to convince his mother to allow to distribution of the medicine Aelia had given him; hours more while Teknocratus constructed a machine to do so efficiently and Acylius himself spread the word of the cure and organised an orderly queue for the people to receive it. But Acylius had the warmth of Aelia’s kiss; the reassuring coolness of the medicine on his chest; and Krabo’s crackling, impotent frustration at Acylius’s competence.

With such a trio of talismans, Acylius felt that he could do just about anything.


	13. lover100 #6: First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Acylius first tells Aelia that he's a Yuk, she doesn't believe him. Then she gets angry. And then she starts to notice what doesn't fit...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A minor AU of _The Eskape_. Some of the imagery that Aelia uses was inspired by Ilan Stavans’ translation of Pablo Neruda’s ‘Ode to the Rose’.

As the early dawn light peeked through the window of her room, Aelia flipped through her notebook, skimming over delicately-coloured sketches and scrawled lists of potential experiments. Usually, it brought her excitement—the thrill of possibilities just waiting to be turned into reality. This morning, the first since the salvage of the destroyed daffodils had been completed, she just felt dull and heavy. None of the ideas that had been scribbled down in an inspired frenzy were bringing with them the least spark of excitement—and just when she really needed that spark, too.

“It figures,” she muttered, then flipped to the start of the notebook and began to read more carefully. The pressing issue was that with the daffodil field cleared, they needed to replace them with something—or they risked losing the ground to the swamp thorns or some other noxious weed. Aelia wasn’t about to let that happen; the Joyces _needed_ that ground. If the Yuks kept up with their current rate of destruction, the yield of pollen would fall, risking their ability to grow new flowers. If they lost enough of _that,_ the Great Prism would soon be at risk of going out. And if that happened…

Well, she wasn’t going to let it. Their seed stores could only take a few more emergency plantings before they started to run dangerously low. If Aelia could relieve some of the pressure on the existing plants by creating a new cultivar with cuttings… And if she had anything to say about it, the cultivar would be something difficult for the Yuks to harvest. Bluebells and flowers like it dropped their pollen easily if the stems were shaken, which would at least slow the Yuks down, but flowers like that were all bulbous. She _could_ prepare something new, but it would take at least a year before they would be ready to plant. Then there were flowers with very fleshy stems that were little use for burning—or at least needed much longer to dry out before they would be useable—but they tended to require shade, which these fields no longer possessed. That left plants with more traditional defences.

“Roses,” said Aelia decisively, snapping her notebook shut. “If those fields are going to be covered with thorns, they’ll at least be the right _kind_ of thorns.” Aelia had plenty of roses that she could take cuttings from, and perhaps she could crossbreed them with one of her faster-growing varieties to create something that would cover a wide area in a short space of time. That would be tricky, since none of them were even in the same family as roses, but it was possible to use the kolor energy of the Prism to encourage rapid growth or hybridisation, depending on how it was applied. So long as she got the initial pollen mixture right, there was no reason for it to be impossible.

The thought did not bring the joy that it should have.

“You know, just _once_ I’d like to create a new cultivar just because I wanted to try something new,” said Aelia aloud. “ _Not_ because we need something to replace another ruined field.”

She picked up her collection bottle and made her way out to the Great Flower’s landing platform, joining the stream of bees and butterflies that were taking advantage of the early morning cool. Most of them began a slow descent as soon as they reached the edge, dropping towards the tulips and asters at the base of the Great Flower, but Aelia flew straight on. She’d have to go out to the furthest fields to avoid getting in anyone’s way, but that might be a good thing. While she was out there, she would check to see if there were any species that were at particular risk—there were a few flowers that struggled in drier soil, and they were often the Yuks’ first targets when they came looking for easy flower wood.

Below her, she heard a familiar honking, and slowed to a hover as Gallopus rose up to meet her.

“Good morning, Gallopus,” she said, patting the robot’s nose affectionately. “How are you today?”

Gallopus honked cheerfully at her, then made an enquiring sound. Aelia lifted her collection bottle for the robot’s inspection.

“I’m going out to the edge of the fields. I want to check on the swamp-growing plants, and I also need to collect some pollen for a new cultivar I want to make, to help replace what we’ve lost in the last month.”

The robot squeaked anxiously.

“No, don’t try to wake him! You know that he’s a menace when we have to do that.” Aelia fought the urge to fly off in a huff. She didn’t need Fulgor as a bodyguard; she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Besides, he’d get bored, and start messing around, and he’d probably ruin whatever she tried to collect. It had happened before.

Gallopus acknowledged this with a sad honk, and Aelia immediately felt guilty. Her family just wanted her to be safe, after all. She patted Gallopus again.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I promise that if I see any Yuks, I’ll find Fulgor and tell him about them. Alright?”

Gallopus made a much happier squeak, pressed his nose against Aelia’s hand for one final pat—which she gave him, laughing—and then slowly descended again. Aelia watched him go. Maybe she should have asked Gallopus to come with her to the edge of the swamp. The robot was far more patient than Fulgor, and she could collect a lot more with his help. But if Fulgor woke up and Gallopus wasn’t there, he’d be sure to come looking, and when he found them he would _insist_ on staying, and that would be just the situation that she was trying to avoid. No, it was better that she go by herself.

Aelia flew on.

* * *

To her relief, none of the plants at the edge of the swamp were in any real danger. She made a mental note about two or three iris cultivars that might need to be replenished if the Yuks chose to make their next incursion in that area, but it was a low priority—more caution than necessity. Fulgor would have said that she worried too much, but he wasn’t the one that had to assess the damage every time that the Yuks came through, and see all too clearly how much they lost with every attack. Aelia scowled at the thought, and gripped the neck of her bottle until she felt like it might crack under her hand. Then she shook herself. Just hovering here and steaming about what the Yuks had done wasn’t going to fix things.

Instead, she made her way over to a few stray tulips and began examining them. Creating a pollen mixture for a particular purpose was an exacting task. Kolor energy did influence the resulting hue of the flowers, but it also altered physical properties as well. If the balance was wrong, then the plant could be very different from the desired result.  “Red…pink…blue,” she muttered. The loss of the daffodils was still too fresh for her to contemplate including any yellow. That was a shame, because she did love yellow—bright and cheerful and shining. Yellow could be stately or frivolous, bold when it was rich or shy when it was just separating itself from cream. Golden flowers gave light to rainy or cloudy days, like miniature suns come to earth to remind them that warmth and blue skies would come again.

But when Aelia tried to picture yellow flowers at the moment, all that she could see was the hacked and bruised daffodils that the Yuks had left behind, trodden into the mud and all their light extinguished. No, it would be some time before she could think of yellow flowers as sunlight again.

“Pink…blue…red,” she murmured again. “Purple?” She’d never made a purple rose before. For the first time since she had decided to begin this project, she felt a spark of excitement. She looked at the flowers with fresh eyes. Blue was the colour of the Prism, and plants that required kolor energy to grow often had a strong blue hue—like the _Exuberansis supervelosis_ that Fulgor had used to cover the desert with flowers. If Aelia wanted to cross that with her new rose to speed up its growth, then it would be a good idea to use some blue pollen as a connection between the generations. Pink, of course, was a traditional colour for roses. And red was often used to mix secondary colours.

Feeling lighter of heart than she had in a week, Aelia fluttered over to the tulips. “A few grains of blue pollen,” she said aloud, reaching into the plant, “for the Great Prism and its eternal crystal.” Blue was all-encompassing, the colour of water and the sky—the colour of things necessary for life and growth. And yet blue was also a secretive colour, hiding distant things behind its blurry shroud, as though they were wishes that could not be articulated. “Blue,” she said, “like a secret dream.”

She fluttered over to the next flower. “The heart of the crimson chalice, to fuse all the colours together.” Red was the colour of passion, leaping into the foreground and commanding the attention of everyone around. Perfect to balance the mysterious serenity of blue; red warmed and illuminated, a fire to soften and meld different elements into something new and amazing. “Red, like a fabulous flame.” She sprinkled the pollen into her bottle, and moved to the next flower. This was the last one that she would need—and perhaps the most important of the three.

“Some pink petals to help the cycle of the rose fulfil its destiny.” True, Aelia had chosen the rose because of its natural thorny defence, but it was still one of the most beautiful flowers in Joyceland. Watching roses unfurl, petal by petal, growing more and more lovely as they opened themselves to the sky, was a wonderful reason for impatience. And even their eventual death was elegant—the flower hanging its head as gracefully as any bluebell, petals gradually dropping away until only the golden centre was left. Their gradual blossoming and decay, as well as their beauty in form and scent, made the rose a symbol of love in Flower City. Pink roses, in particular, always made Aelia think of the first blush of love, like the sky just before the sun rose.

Not that she’d ever experienced that kind of emotion; no one in Flower City had ever captured her attention that way. Sometimes, Aelia wondered if she would ever find it, or even if she would recognise it when she did. She pushed those thoughts away. There were other kinds of love than romantic, and if the roses she intended to create weren’t for love of someone special, they were for love of her people and her home. “The rose—flower of love—” She broke off. Someone had stepped through the fronds of the surrounding flowers—someone that she had never seen before. “Oh!”

Her first thought was, _He’s beautiful._ He was more slender than Fulgor, with a smooth upward sweep to his shoulders and a curiously ridged nose. But his kolors were what really caught her eye—he was primarily a golden yellow, shading smoothly along his limbs from pink to blue. He looked like a sunrise.

Aelia’s heart gave a great thump.

As she stared, he raised a hand in greeting. “Hello. What’s your name?” He had a nice voice, too—smooth and pleasant, tinged with an accent she hadn’t heard before.

Aelia’s heart gave another thump.

“Aelia,” she said, fighting not to stammer. “And yours?”

“Acylius.”

 _He even has a lovely name. Oh, that just isn’t fair._ “Where are you from?” she blurted. “I haven’t seen you in Joyceland.” She was sure that he couldn’t be from around here; she _certainly_ would have noticed someone as distinctive as him fluttering around. But if he wasn’t from Flower City, where could he have come from? Was there another colony of insects out there, somewhere beyond the desert?

Acylius chuckled, which made Aelia’s stomach flutter pleasantly. “That’s no wonder. You see, I’m a—” But before he could complete his sentence, loud thudding shook the ground. Acylius looked around in surprise, but from her higher vantage point, Aelia had already spotted the ugly, blocky shape of a Yuk walking machine. She clapped her hands over her mouth—dropping her collection bottle in the process—and glanced at Acylius. She saw the moment that he spotted the walker too—his eyes widened, and she saw him suck in a breath.

She gestured to a nearby mushroom. “Quickly!” With Acylius beside her—he sprinted rather than take the extra moment to launch himself into the air, which Aelia thought was sensible—she arrowed towards it. They threw themselves around the other side and huddled together behind the stalk. They weren’t a moment too soon. The walking machine crashed through the flowers, shaking the ground with every step. Accompanying it was the sound of—sneezing?

Aelia peeked around the mushroom. She recognised Lord Krabo, the Yuk Prime Minister, immediately, though not the Yuk that stood beside him. One of their soldiers, probably. In between sneezes, Krabo managed to gasp, “Accursed flowers! Where’s that kid?”

 _Kid?_ Did he mean Acylius? Aelia might have spared her companion a glance, but her gaze was caught by a spot of something pale lying in the dirt. Her collection bottle! She had dropped it when she flew for cover! And it was right in the path of the machine! Aelia clutched at the stalk of the mushroom, her fingers digging in. The machine had long strides. Maybe it would miss the bottle? _Please, don’t let them destroy this, too! I’ve barely started!_

Her prayers went unanswered. The machine’s flat foot came down squarely on the top of the pale ceramic. The _crunch_ of shattering pottery wasn’t even audible above the walker’s footsteps, and the two Yuks went blithely on. Krabo was still sneezing, and Aelia hoped rather viciously that it would give him a headache. She could feel her hands shaking with the strength of her anger.

“Dirty Yuks!” she burst out. “All they ever do is destroy! I hate all Yuks!” _If I could get my hands on them!_ She controlled herself with an effort, and looked at her companion. Acylius was staring at the ground, looking guilty. It seemed as though the Yuks really had been looking for him. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Is it you they’re looking for?” she asked, keeping her voice gentle. She didn’t want him to think that she blamed _him_ for the Yuks and their destruction.

“Um, well…”

It was all the answer that she needed. “It’s alright, they’re gone.” Hopefully, they wouldn’t be back. And if they were _very_ lucky, the Yuks would give up and go away before they did further damage to the flowers. At least they were limiting themselves to bruised stems and torn leaves, rather than felling entire plants. It was much easier to trim away anything too badly hurt than it was to replant an entire field.

And while they were on that subject… Swallowing, Aelia steeled herself and fluttered over to the small circle of crushed pottery and pollen. She’d known that there really wasn’t any chance of salvaging the work she’d done, but she still felt her stomach sink and her throat clench when she saw the way that the pollen had been muddied beyond use. She dropped to her knees in front of it, her anger momentarily replaced by an exhausted despair. “All that I gather, ruined,” she lamented.  

Acylius came up beside her. “Is it really so important?”

Aelia glanced up at him. What a strange thing to ask—of course it was important! Then understanding came. He meant was it really so important that this _particular_ mixture was destroyed, when she could always gather more pollen. For a moment, she considered explaining that her grieving was not just for this mixture, but for every one of her flowers that the Yuks had destroyed. For every one of her projects that she had seen reduced to something to burn, crushed into the mud, or just hacked to pieces for the love of destruction. But somehow, she didn’t want to explain that to Acylius. The feeling of excitement and wonder that had accompanied their first few moments together had vanished entirely at the appearance of the Yuks, but she didn’t want to spoil the mood any further by pouring all of that bitterness into Acylius’s ear.

“It’s kolors and pollen, that give life to our city,” she said, choosing a more general explanation. “And with them, we create new flowers.”

“New flowers,” repeated Acylius. “And new kolors as well? Why, that’s marvellous! It must be the most beautiful country in the world. I want to go there and smell all of the perfumes!”

His excitement had an electric effect on Aelia. Maybe the mood hadn’t been so spoiled after all; maybe they could recapture that magical atmosphere. She sprang into the air. “Well, then, come on! I’ll show you everything.” She waited, but Acylius didn’t follow her up. “Acylius? Won’t you come?”

“But—I don’t know how to fly,” he said, his excitement visibly fading.

Now that _was_ strange. “How can that be?”

Acylius looked down. “Well, I guess it’s because I’m a—”

Heart sinking, Aelia cut him off. “It doesn’t matter! You can explain to me later!” She shouldn’t have asked; she should have guessed that there would be a difficult story behind it. Now she’d made Acylius feel ashamed that he’d never been taught what every winged insect should know. Hoping that she could restore his excitement, she hurried on, “I’ll show you how! Spread your wings.”

She tilted to one side, fluttering her own for demonstration. But Acylius didn’t mimic her movements. Instead, he kept staring at the ground. After a moment, her heart sinking even further, Aelia dropped back to earth. “What’s wrong, Acylius? Are your wings hurt?” Maybe that was why he’d never learned. If he’d been sick or had some kind of injury, perhaps when he was small, then it might have been safer for him not to learn. That way, he wouldn’t have risked straining them and doing himself even more harm.

“No—at least, I don’t think so,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. His wings were fluttering slightly. They moved smoothly enough, which argued that it wasn’t some kind of problem with the muscle. Maybe with the wing itself? “Blue,” he said, almost to himself. “Like a secret dream…”

“They’re a lovely colour,” said Aelia politely. “May I see them?” If he didn’t know if there was a problem, it would be best that she check them over before she tried to teach him to fly.

Acylius slowly turned around, and Aelia leaned in to peer at his wings. There was no damage to the membrane that she could see, no misshapen veins or anything that would create an obvious weak point. “Hmm,” she said. “I don’t see anything wrong. Does it hurt when you move them?”

“No, but I don’t think I have full control over it,” said Acylius. His wings twitched as he spoke.

“Have you used them before at all?” asked Aelia, hoping that her gentle tone might soften the blow of any unpleasant memories.

“I think I might have—when I was younger,” said Acylius slowly. “But it was…discouraged. I think I’m the only one in my family to have wings—at least, the only one for a long time. I know that my mother doesn’t have any.” He had twisted so that he could watch their fluttering. They continued to twitch as he tried to control their movement.

“It’s easier once you’re in the air,” she offered. “Taking off is hard, at first, but I can help!” Hastily, she added, “If you want to, I mean.”

“I don’t know if _you_ want to help _me_ ,” said Acylius, softly. Then he turned back around. “Aelia, the reason that I don’t know how to fly is because I am a Yuk.”

Shock blanked Aelia’s mind for a moment. She forced a giggle. “Very funny,” she said. “You can’t be a Yuk.” But as soon as she said it, she felt doubt creeping over her. Acylius couldn’t fly (something she should have realised when he had approached her on foot rather than by air), she had never seen him before, and he was completely ignorant of how Flower City worked and lived. But there were other explanations for that, surely? There were other things that didn’t match—his kolors, his appreciation of flowers—

“I’m afraid that I am.” He looked terribly solemn. “As I said, my name is Acylius. I am the son of Queen Bakrakra.”

Aelia shook her head. “That isn’t funny.” He had to be lying. The most interesting person that she had met in ages couldn’t possibly be a Yuk. The universe wouldn’t be that cruel. Wasn’t it bad enough that she had to watch part of her home destroyed every few week?

“It isn’t a joke!” said Acylius, beginning to sound a little distressed. “Aelia, I promise that I am telling the truth.”

 “But—your kolors—”

“I landed on a flower when I arrived, and I had to jump to several more to reach the ground without hurting myself,” explained Acylius. “It will probably come off if I rub it…”

Aelia went cold. “You mean that you _disguised_ yourself?” Her hands began to shake. So all that talk about the flowers—he must have been pretending so that she wouldn’t have known that he really was a Yuk. He had probably wanted her to show him around Flower City so that he could go back to the Stump and tell them the best way to attack it.

“No, it wasn’t on purpose—”

“You—you horrible _spy!_ ” said Aelia, her voice rising as her anger took hold. “You were trying to trick me into helping you! Well, I would never help a Yuk. You just wait until I tell Fulgor about this. He’ll sort you out.” She made to jump into the air, but Acylius lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. She struggled. “Let go of me!”

“Aelia, _please!_ I am a Yuk, but I swear that I didn’t come here to destroy your flowers or anything of the kind! The two Yuks who passed us a few minutes ago? That was Krabo—”

“I know who Krabo is!”

“—and Commander Krabouic, one of the highest-ranking officers in the Yuk army. They came to catch me and send me back to the Stump, because I escaped in one of their machines!”

Aelia snorted, making the sound as derisive as she could manage. “ _Escape?_ You _just_ said that you were the son of Queen Bakrakra—that would make you a prince, wouldn’t it? And you expect me to believe that you had to _escape_ from the Stump?” She tugged again against his grip. Acylius’s hand was very strong, and surprisingly rough—she could feel callouses on his palm. He also wasn’t holding her tightly enough to hurt. He probably thought that she wasn’t much of a threat, or he was overconfident and believed that she wouldn’t be able to break free.

“I am a prince, that’s true, but my mother considers me a disappointment,” said Acylius, his voice desperate. “She’s counting on Krabo to educate me to be ‘worthy of the throne’, but I don’t want to be anything like her, or like him. I want to be a _Joyce,_ Aelia. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

The idea was so ridiculous—a Yuk (the _prince_ of the Yuks, no less), wanting to be a Joyce?—that Aelia laughed. It made her feel slightly sick. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “It’s a nice story, but you probably planned this with Krabo. If I thought that they were looking for you, I’d be more inclined to help, after all.” It had nearly worked, too, and Aelia swallowed against the acid taste of guilt. What did it say about her, that she had been willing to show a complete stranger all around her home, just because they were pretty and needed help?

“If I was truly working with them, then why would I tell you all this?” demanded Acylius. “If I was a spy, it would be stupid of me to blow my cover so early, wouldn’t it?”

That made Aelia pause for a moment. He was right; that would be pretty stupid. But what if that was part of the plan, too? If she believed that no spy would be stupid enough to _tell_ their target that they were a spy—the Yuks might count on that to remove any suspicion. That seemed a little too complicated for Krabo, but that didn’t mean that someone else couldn’t have come up with the idea. She couldn’t take that chance.

She shook her head. “I don’t believe you.” Then an idea struck her. “You probably told me because not being able to fly was going to blow your cover anyway,” she said, triumphant. “You couldn’t get me to show you around Flower City if you couldn’t fly! It was stupid of you not to think of that; how else would you get around here?”

Acylius abruptly released his hold on her wrist, and Aelia almost fell over backwards. Panting, she rubbed her wrist, which—sure enough—had smears of pollen on it. Acylius was certainly no Joyce, and she should get out of here, as fast as she could. She had to tell Fulgor about all of this, no matter how reluctant she felt, and then he would be able to drive Krabo and his accomplices out of Flower City. She bent her knees, ready to spring into the air—then stopped.

Acylius had not moved to follow her as she moved backwards. He just stood there, looking…resigned. His antennae drooped, and he couldn’t quite meet her eyes.

“I can see that I am not going to convince you,” he said. “I suppose it was foolish of me to believe that any Joyce would ever like me. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Aelia. And—even if you don’t believe me—it was nice to meet you.” He turned to walk away, and every step was dragging and slow.

Aelia stared after him, still rubbing her wrist. The grains of pollen rolled under her fingers—

Pollen. Kolor.

“Wait!” she called. Acylius stopped and turned around. He looked a little surprised, but he didn’t speak. Frowning and biting her lip, Aelia cautiously approached him. He made no move to grab her again. Reaching out with one hand, she brushed her fingers tentatively along Acylius’s  arm. Sure enough, more pollen came away on their tips, leaving a few faded streaks to show the path of her fingers. “You really are covered in pollen,” said Aelia softly. “But—this doesn’t make any sense.”

“What doesn’t?” asked Acylius.

“Any Yuk exposed to kolor starts behaving…oddly,” said Aelia slowly. She’d seen the effect for herself, many times. It struck each Yuk a little bit differently—some started laughing uncontrollably, some started dancing (or trying to dance, anyway), and some started playing silly games with one another—but there was always some element of heightened mood. Acylius hadn’t shown any of those kinds of symptoms. And he had been obviously dejected by Aelia’s refusal to believe his story, something that no kolor-covered Yuk could have managed. “Why aren’t you?” She frowned. “Or…is this odd, for you?”

“Not really,” said Acylius. “The Stump is a terribly depressing place. The oddity was my excitement when you told me about the beauties of Flower City—” He stopped abruptly. During the last sentence, hope had started to rise in his voice. But now his head dropped down to his chest, and his voice sounded resigned again. “Which I suppose only proves your point.”

Aelia bit her lip, then said, “Actually, no, it doesn’t.” When Acylius blinked up at her in surprise, she explained, “I’ve seen kolor-affected Yuks plenty of times. They experienced a heightened mood until the effects of the kolor are neutralised. I’ve never seen any Yuk who could manage to be calm while they were covered in kolor, let alone experience an obviously negative emotion.” She frowned. “And they usually don’t make much sense. But…you haven’t been anything but logical.” She stared at him, thoroughly baffled.

As she stared, she saw hope slowly dawn in Acylius’s eyes. He took half a step forward, and Aelia tensed a little, then stopped himself. “Does this mean that you believe me?” he asked, obviously trying not to sound too eager. He didn’t succeed very well.

Aelia shook her head slowly, but it was more of an attempt to clear her head than a negation. “I’m not sure what to believe,” she said. There was a long silence, and eventually Aelia asked, “Did you really have to steal a machine to escape?”

“Well, first I had to dig a tunnel out of my room and down to the hangar,” said Acylius. “And then I stole the machine.” He pointed. “It’s back that way, if you want proof.”

“No, I—you had to dig a tunnel out of your room?”

“I was locked in,” said Acylius. “It was the only way that I could think to get out without being noticed.”

“And you really _like_ the flowers?”

“They’re the most beautiful things that I’ve ever seen,” said Acylius, with transparent passion. “I’ve spent a lot of time in the observatory lately, but seeing them at a distance is nothing compared to seeing them up close.”

“Oh.” This still didn’t make much sense, and so much of it depended on whether or not Acylius was telling the truth. He sounded like he was—she wanted to believe that he was—but she wasn’t sure that she could. “I’m not sure what to think of you, Acylius. But, I have to admit that you aren’t like any other Yuk I’ve ever seen. So…I guess it would be okay if I showed you around, at least a little.” It wasn’t as though he would learn much simply from looking at the flowers. If he started to get curious about anything else, then that would be the time to fly to Fulgor as fast as she could. Aelia took a deep breath. “Do you want to learn to fly?”

* * *

 

It didn’t take long for Acylius to learn to keep himself aloft.

“Just let me know if you get tired,” said Aelia. “And I’ll help you land so that you can rest. Since this is your first major flight, you shouldn’t try to push yourself too hard, or you might strain a muscle. Then it would be days, maybe weeks, before you could fly again.” Acylius nodded solemnly, and Aelia went on, “Okay. See if you can follow me.” She traced a wavy line across the sky, keeping the curves wide and shallow so that Acylius wouldn’t send himself into a spin by mistake. When she thought that she had enough distance, she paused to watch him.

There wasn’t much doubt that he’d never flown before—even if the occasionally stuttering rhythm of his wings hadn’t been a dead giveaway, the way that he used his arms to balance himself would have been.

“That’s good!” she told him, when he caught up to her. “Try to keep your arms still. It’s okay to use them for extra balance, since you’re just a beginner, but if you flail around too much, you might send yourself into a corkscrew.”

“It’s harder than I thought it would be to keep my balance,” he admitted. He didn’t sound at all downcast by that—if anything, he sounded excited. “It reminds me a little of swimming, except in the air rather than in water.”

Aelia blinked. “I guess so,” she said. “I never thought of it quite like that.”

Acylius glanced at her wings. “I suppose that you don’t often go swimming.”

She nodded. “My wings would drag me down. They’re more fragile than yours.”

“But much more beautiful,” he said earnestly.

Aelia felt her face heat a little. It was sweet of Acylius to say that, especially with such transparent sincerity. And somehow, she didn’t feel like explaining that by butterfly standards, her wings weren’t exactly plain, but they weren’t anything exciting, either. She cleared her throat. “Thanks,” she said, and turned away. “Alright, let’s try this…”

After another ten minutes of practice—which took Acylius through the basics of climbing, descent, and changing direction—she could see that he was starting to flag, and she led him down to a broad leaf where they could both sit and rest.

“You did very well,” she told him.

Acylius was breathing a little hard. “How in the name of the great King Karbon do you manage to do that all day?” he asked. “It’s exhilarating, but it’s also exhausting.”

Aelia shrugged. “It takes time to build up the strength in your wings. But it’s almost always how we get around, so we get used to it. And, to be fair, we don’t usually fly _all_ day.”

“Just most of it?” asked Acylius wryly.

Aelia couldn’t suppress a giggle. “The hard part is taking off, and you can make that easier by using a high place as a launch. When we move on from here, you can practice.” She stretched her wings out and fluttered them slightly. “Different kinds of wings find different things easier. Mine will let me glide for long distances if I hold them still, but I’m not as agile as someone with wings like yours. Closely-grown places are hard for me to navigate without running into anything.” She smiled. “But if I take off from the Great Flower, I can glide halfway across the fields before I need to flap my wings again.”

“It must be breathtaking from up there,” said Acylius. Shielding his eyes, he looked up to where the Great Flower rose above all others. “You must be able to see the whole of Joyceland.”

“You can,” confirmed Aelia. She didn’t offer to take him up there—not yet. Partially, it was because making it up to the Great Flower would be a difficult for an inexperienced flier like Acylius—he would almost certainly strain something if he tried at the moment. The other problem was that she still wasn’t sure whether she should trust him. He hadn’t said or done anything yet that contradicted what he had told her, but there was still a chance that he was just a very good actor.

She cast a sidelong look at Acylius. His gaze had moved from the Great Flower to the smaller blooms around them. His eyes were wide with wonder, one hand partially extended as though he wanted to reach out and touch them. She wondered what kolor he was, underneath all that pollen.

“What kind of flowers are these?” he asked. “They’re very different to the ones by the edge of the swamp.”

“Different plants grow in different kinds of soil,” said Aelia, shaking off her thoughts. “The land edging the swamp is mainly silt, and it’s best for things like irises and roses.”

“The flower of love,” said Acylius, and Aelia felt her face heat again for no good reason. He was, after all, just repeating what he had overheard her say during her pollen gathering. She coughed, hoping that the sound would excuse any resulting oddness in her voice.

“Yes, that’s right. Since we’re further away from the swamp, we start to get more sand mixed in, but most of the soil is clay. It doesn’t drain well and it can be hard for the roots of the plants to break it up. But there are still a few kinds of flower that thrive here.” She pointed. “The purple ones with lots of small petals around the centre are asters—you might see more of them around as we go on. They come in whites and pinks as well. And over there are daylilies.” The plants were in full bloom, throwing out sprays of golden, trumpet-like flowers in all directions. “They can come in all kinds of colours as well. The flowers only last one day, but they put out a lot of buds, so the plant blooms for a long time.” She continued to name the different flowers, trying to keep her explanations simple. Fulgor always complained that she got too technical when it came to plants. But even when she gave the full botanical names by mistake— _Coreopsis grandiflora_ slipped out accidentally-on-purpose, she hated calling it ‘tickweed’—Acylius didn’t so much as blink. She wondered what kind of things he was expected to know, that the precise botanical names (which Fulgor considered to be needlessly long and complicated) didn’t bother him at all.

When she came to the end of the list, Acylius stayed silent for long enough that she started to worry that she might have overwhelmed him. But just as she was wondering whether to apologise, Acylius turned to her and asked, “How many kinds of flowers are there?”

Aelia blinked. “Different species, or different cultivars?”

“…I don’t know what a cultivar is,” said Acylius, sounding a little sheepish. Aelia could have smacked herself. Of course he wouldn’t know what a cultivar was. Why would a Yuk ever need to know such a thing?

“Sorry. A cultivar is a different variety of the same plant. Like a purple aster would be a different _cultivar_ to a white aster, but they’re still the same _species_.” It was a little more complicated than that, but it was enough for now. She tipped her head to one side. “The number of cultivars is theoretically endless,” she said. “We create new ones all the time—different colours and different shapes, or varieties that will grow better in different places.  I know that we have at least one hundred kinds of tulip on record, and that’s just one species.”

“That’s incredible,” said Acylius, his eyes wide with awe. “You record them?”

“Yes, it’s important to know what’s already been done. Otherwise we might waste a lot of time repeating experiments that have already been carried out.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I’m not sure exactly how many species of flowers grow here. I’d have to check the records; some of them aren’t very common.” And some of them weren’t possible to grow within the borders of Flower City; the golden-orange desert flower, for example. “Are you ready to go on?” Something made her tease, “You might not be able to see _all_ of the flowers we grow here today, but I can show you more than just _these._ ”

Acylius stood up eagerly, his wings already fluttering against his back. “Yes, please!”

Aelia couldn’t help laughing.

* * *

 

She wasn’t able to spare a lot of thought, in between helping Acylius with the basics of flight and the lessons in basic botany that accompanied their rests, but even so, it took her less than an hour to conclude that she liked Acylius entirely too much. It was almost impossible not to: he was clearly intelligent and eager to learn, he was effusive and unselfconscious in his praise of the beauty around him, and he was politely charming. It was the last—a complete lack of any arrogance or superiority—that she found particularly attractive. It made such a nice change from Fulgor, who delighted in stating misinformation with complete confidence, just to drive her crazy.

So, yes—she liked Acylius far too much for the length of their acquaintance. The question was what she was going to do about it. The longer she spent with him, the more she wanted to invite Acylius to stay with them permanently, but she still didn’t dare to trust him that much. But if he really had escaped from the Stump, and if Krabo and that Commander Krabouic were looking for him to drag him back, then it wouldn’t be right to leave him by himself, either.

Maybe she could find some way for Papa to meet Acylius. He was a good judge of character; everyone said so. He would know if Acylius wasn’t as trustworthy as he appeared. And if anyone would be prepared to accept the idea of a Yuk wanting to live as a Joyce, it was Papa. Papa would befriend Queen Bakrakra herself if he could.

She paused a moment to look back at Acylius. His attention was focused on the flowers below, and she could just hear him murmuring to himself, naming what he recognised. It was almost unbearably cute, and Aelia looked away. She had to make a logical decision about this; she couldn’t take in a Yuk just because he was _cute._

Acylius gasped. Puzzled, Aelia turned back towards him, just in time for him to crash into her.

As she tumbled head over heels, knocked breathless by the impact, Aelia’s first thought was that Acylius had lost control of his flight. He was learning fast, but there were some things that you could only learn through practice, and a few spectacular crashes were only to be expected. Her second thought, hard on the heels of the first, was that Acylius really _was_ a spy, that he had lulled her into a false sense of security before making his move. Before she had time to decide which one it had been, she heard Acylius cry out.

She spread her wings as wide as she could to slow her spin and her fall. It seemed to take a long time, and she was hyperaware of the need to hurry, to see what had happened to Acylius. Wobbling dizzily, Aelia got herself upright again and scanned the landscape below her. She couldn’t see him. If this had been an attack, it had been a miscalculated one.

Or this might be another trick.

“Acylius?” she called. Her carapace was one solid prickle, anxiety for an innocent Acylius who had lost control alternating with anxiety for a ruthless Acylius just waiting to attack her again. It did nothing to settle her stomach, still roiling from her unexpected fall.

Then she heard him shout, panicked, “Get away!”

Aelia hesitated. Then, swallowing hard, she dove in the direction of his voice. One way or another, she had to see.

She broke through the canopy of flowers and stopped short, her hands flying to her mouth. Below her was the Yuk walking machine. Krabo was still in the cockpit, but the Yuk pilot had dismounted. In one hand, he held a karbon gun. In the other, he held the arm of a struggling Acylius.

Karbon juice had turned the Yuk prince an ugly brown-black, and with a sinking stomach Aelia realised that the prickling of her carapace had not just been because of anxiety. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scene in front of her, but now that she knew they were there, she could feel the flecks of karbon that dotted her skin.

“Stop that struggling at once,” Krabo was saying. There was a sickening sweetness to his voice that made Aelia shudder. “Dear prince, it is only us, you are quite safe now. You have my personal assurance that Commander Krabouic will be _severely_ disciplined for daring to fire upon Your Highness…”

Commander Krabuoic shuddered, but didn’t release his grip. “Terribly sorry, prince,” he said. “Thought you were a Joyce, all kolored-up like that. Not to worry, we can put you through the Dark Box as soon as we get back to the City, get you all cleaned up.”

“I am _not_ going back to the Stump,” said Acylius fiercely. His wings were buzzing, trying to propel him out of the pilot’s grip, but Aelia could see the dark film coating his wings. Koal juice didn’t make it impossible to fly, but it did make it much harder, and Acylius was only a beginner. He hadn’t had the time to build up the strength in his wings that might have let him tear free.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Krabo, the honey leaving his voice. “You are coming home with us _immediately._ Do you know how long we’ve had to spend wandering around in this land of nauseating _flowers_ , looking for you? If your mother the queen realises that you left the Stump without an escort—” He cut himself off, but Acylius was already scoffing.

“You only care about saving your own carapace,” he said. His free hand was prying at Krabouic’s, trying to loosen the Commander’s fingers. “I tell you, I am _not_ coming back to the Stump. I don’t care what you say, _or_ what my mother says!”

Krabo’s yellow eyes gleamed with rage, but before he could start shouting, the Commander looked up at him. “Must be some kind of Joyce witchcraft,” he said. “Twisting the prince’s mind, turning him against all that’s dark and true, Your Unreasonableness.”

Krabo deflated very slightly, and he assumed a lofty posture. “Right. Yes, of course. Joyce mind-control, explains everything. Bring the prince up to the cockpit, Commander Krabouic, we shall return to the Stump at once and have Teknocratus—” Krabo’s eyes had left the prince as he made his declaration, and now they fixed on Aelia, hovering frozen at the edge of the clearing. “Joyce!” he shrieked, clutching at the rim of the cockpit with knobbly hands.

It broke Aelia’s paralysis. “You let Acylius go, _right now!_ ” she shouted. She might not have Fulgor’s guitar or one of the dragonflies’ kolor bombs, but with all the flowers of Joyceland around her, she wasn’t exactly defenceless. There was a fringe of bluebells hanging just above Krabo’s head that would do very nicely. She dived for it.

“Shoot it!” shouted Krabo. “Commander Krabouic, _get that Joyce!_ ”

“Aelia, get away!” cried Acylius at almost the same moment. As Krabouic released Acylius and brought up his gun, the prince tackled the pilot. Bolts of koal juice shot into the sky as Krabouic tipped over backwards. Aelia, meanwhile, had seized the stem of the bluebells and yanked it down _hard._ Blue pollen showered from the flower heads, coating the machine’s cockpit. Krabo began to sneeze.

“ _Achoo! Achoo!_ Blasted blue butterfly, you’ll pay for that! _Hatchoo!_ ” One flailing hand seized Aelia’s ankle as she tried to get clear of the machine. She cried out, and Krabo screeched again as her frantic wingbeats lifted them both into the air.

“Let go!” she shouted.

“ _Put me down!_ ” Krabo hollered. “ _Achoo! Achoo!”_ Each sneeze shook Aelia, sending her careening into the flowers that bordered the clearing. Pollen rained over them both every time that they hit another one—and every fresh shower made Krabo sneeze even harder. Aelia covered her mouth with her hands, but she could feel her throat tickling from all the pollen in the air. _I have to get above the flowers, or we’ll both choke to death!_ She beat her wings harder, knocking a fresh spray of pink pollen onto the Yuk clinging to her leg.

“You— _achoo!_ —wretched thing! _Achoo!_ You kolored— _achoo!_ —clown! You— _achoo!_ —brainless jester! Put me down this instant!”

Aelia risked taking her hands away from her mouth. “ _You’re_ the one holding onto _me!_ ”

“Aelia!”

She spun towards the voice. A bright, strong chord sounded, and suddenly Krabo was no longer clutching her leg. He shrieked as he plummeted towards the ground—a shriek that was cut off by fresh sneezes as he bounced from flower to flower. At last he hit the dirt and lay there, still sneezing. Aelia panted, her heart pounding fit to burst, as a loud honk sounded and Fulgor grabbed her wrist.

“Are you okay?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Get on Gallopus, you’re too winded to fly. Let’s get out of here.”

Aelia shook her head. “Not—without Acylius,” she managed, turning back towards the clearing.

“Who?” asked Fulgor, baffled.

A short distance from where Krabo was lying, Aelia could see that Acylius and Krabouic were still wrestling for control of the gun. The pilot was much bigger and stronger than the prince, but Acylius was stubborn—every time that Krabouic seized the gun and started to bring it up in a firing position, Acylius would dive for it again, pulling it back down towards the ground. Every so often, Krabouic would raise a hand, or his leg would twitch, a clear signal that he would have liked to do more than just push this foe away—but every time he would restrain himself, apparently remembering that this was his prince, and the consequences for striking him would be dire. If he hadn’t had such self-control, Aelia was sure that the fight would already be over.

But Acylius’s valiant struggles couldn’t last forever. Aelia could see that the prince was breathing as hard as she was, and his movements were becoming more and more uncoordinated. Krabouic was gradually get the upper hand.

Aelia grabbed the guitar from Fulgor’s hands and dived down towards the clearing. She heard him shout after her, and Gallopus almost screaming, but she didn’t bother to listen. All of her focus was on the wrestling pair below her. She braked hard, her wings screaming at her, just as Krabouic shoved Acylius away again. As the Yuk pilot raised the gun, fingers fumbling for the trigger, Aelia brought the guitar up and sounded a perfect G chord.

She heard the kolor blast splatter all over Krabouic’s chest, but didn’t wait to see its effects. She dived for Acylius and seized his wrist, hauling him up into the air.

“Come on!” she shouted, trying to pull Acylius up while still holding Fulgor’s guitar with her other hand. Gallopus and Fulgor had followed them down, and Aelia shoved Fulgor’s guitar into her brother’s hands and hauled Acylius onto Gallopus’s back.

“Aelia, who is—” began Fulgor, as Aelia dropped onto Gallopus behind the winded Yuk prince.

“I’ll explain later,” she said shortly. “Let’s _go!_ ”

Gallopus needed no further encouragement. The robot shot skywards, throwing Acylius backwards before he got a proper grip on the front of the saddle. Aelia folded her wings back to minimize drag as they levelled out, and twisted to look behind her. The clearing was little more than a dark dot below them, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“We got away,” she told Acylius, who was still trying to catch his breath. “You can relax. I don’t think they’ll be going anywhere for a while.”

Acylius took a few more deep breaths before he replied. “You came back for me,” he said, sounding equal parts confused and awed.

She put a hand on his shoulder. “I believe you now,” she told him. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let them take you back.”

Fulgor flew up beside them, still holding his guitar at the ready. Conversationally, he said, “You guys can explain what’s going on _any time now._ ”

* * *

 Aelia explained on the way to the springs, with Acylius occasionally chiming in to provide an extra detail or clarify something. Fulgor was not as inclined to believe the prince as his sister, and said so as Aelia led Acylius into the water and grabbed a scraper.

“How do you know that this isn’t some kind of trick?” he asked, eyeing Acylius with open suspicion. His guitar was not quite pointed at the prince, but it would only take a twitch of Fulgor’s hands to correct that. “He is a Yuk, after all.”

“He _is_ a Yuk,” agreed Aelia, starting to run the scraper over Acylius’s back. “But he’s not like the other ones.”

Acylius twitched, a muffle giggle escaping his mouth. “That tickles!” he said.

Aelia couldn’t help grinning in response. “Naturally! I have to scrape you clean, you’re covered in pollen and cold karbon juice.” She gently directed the scraper around Acylius’s wings. “I never thanked you for pushing me out of the way,” she said. “Can you spread your wings so I can get underneath them?”

Acylius obliged, after a few false starts. “I almost wasn’t in time. I saw the gun pointing towards you, and…reacted.” Despite the scraper-induced thread of laughter in his voice, he sounded troubled. “I never thought that koal juice would make it so difficult to fly. I hate to think of what they might have done if it was _you_ they had hit.”

“Well, apparently Fulgor was already looking for me, so it probably would have turned out alright,” said Aelia, not entirely truthfully. “But you did save me from having to have my wings repainted again, so thank you. I hate to bother Papa when he’s working, but he’s the only one who can get my kolors right.”

Acylius twisted to look over at Fulgor. “Your entrance was most timely,” he said. “Thank you. I don’t know how much longer I could have kept Krabouic from firing, and I couldn’t help Aelia with Krabo at all.”

Aelia glanced over her shoulder. Fulgor was still scowling, but his hands were no longer poised to strum the guitar.

“Aelia’s my sister,” he said, gruffly but not openly hostile. “I look out for her.”

“Why were you looking for me at all?” asked Aelia, returning to her scraping. With every stroke, she managed to peel a little more of the pollen-and-karbon coating away from Acylius’s carapace.

“The Yuks passed by my spot about half an hour ago,” replied Fulgor. “Gallopus said you were out by yourself, and I went to warn you. So they were looking for you, Your Highness?” The title wasn’t _quite_ a mockery, but Aelia scowled over her shoulder at her brother anyway.

“Yes, they were,” said Acylius. “My mother is determined that I will be a proper prince of Yukdom, but that’s the last thing I want. I want to live here, with flowers and kolors and music. I want to live like a _Joyce._ ” The desperation in his voice made Aelia put her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him. He sounded like he expected to be immediately rebuffed.

“If that’s what you want—” she began, but a snort from Fulgor cut her off.

 “I never heard of a Yuk hanging around with a Joyce,” he said.

Aelia whirled on her brother. “So what?” she demanded. “If that’s what he wants, then Acylius should be able to live here with us.”

Fulgor held up his hands. “If that’s what he wants, it’s what he wants! I just don’t know if a Yuk _can._ ”

The stricken look on Acylius’s face made Aelia want to smack her brother. “I don’t see any reason that he couldn’t,” she declared.

Fulgor gave her a sceptical look. “What about what’ll happen when he gets kolor on him?” he asked. “You can’t avoid it, and we don’t have a way to get it off again, short of dropping him in here.”

“Acylius isn’t affected by kolor,” said Aelia flatly, scrubbing at Acylius’s arm.

“What?”

“I don’t experience any elevated mood when I come into contact with kolor,” said Acylius. “That was what persuaded Aelia to give me a chance. He shifted a little, wincing, and Aelia immediately lightened her strokes.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “Rinse your arm?”

Obediently, Acylius dipped his arm in the spring. It seemed that without the koal juice and the pollen, Acylius was a rich brown. He was, in fact, the same colour as good loam. Aelia took that as a positive sign, and handed him the scraper. “Here. You start on your front, and I’ll rinse your back.”

She risked another glance at Fulgor as she dipped to scoop up a double handful of water. He hadn’t responded to Acylius’s claim, and his scepticism had faded into a thoughtful look that Aelia didn’t often see on her brother’s face. Ordinarily, she would have said something about the rarity of Fulgor actually stopping to think about something, but this was too important. Instead, she let him ponder while she and Acylius gradually removed the rest of the karbon/kolor mixture from the prince’s carapace.

When they stepped out of the springs and started to slick the excess water from their skin, Fulgor stood up.

“Well, I guess we should go talk to the Great Pyro,” he said. “If you’re really sure about wanting to stay here, Acylius.”

The prince blinked disbelievingly at him for a moment, then said fervently, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“Alright,” said Fulgor. He sounded as though he meant it. “Then hop on Gallopus, and let’s go.”

* * *

 Acylius got more and more tense as they approached the Great Flower, and by the time they touched down on the landing platform, he was almost vibrating with anxiety. All Aelia could do was put her hand on his shoulder and give him a reassuring smile; she wasn’t nearly as calm and certain about this as she was pretending to be, and she didn’t dare speak in case her voice gave that away. Her stomach churned as they all made their way to the Harmonicum, and even the music that drifted down the corridor didn’t do much to soothe her. She knew that Acylius was felt just as sick with nerves as she did, because he didn’t ask any questions about the music. The only one who seemed completely calm was Fulgor. He walked right up to the doors of the Harmonicum and—before Aelia or Acylius could say anything—pushed them wide open.

The Great Pyro finished the phrase he was playing with one more chiming chord, then stepped away from the keys. “Hello, children,” he said. Aelia saw her father’s feathery antennae twitch when he noticed Acylius, but his voice showed no sign of his surprise. She envied the ability. “I heard that there was some fuss down among the bluebells not long ago. I hope it wasn’t anything too serious.”

Aelia and Fulgor both opened their mouths to say something, but Acylius beat them both to it. “I’m afraid that was my fault,” he said, stepping forward. “Hello, Great Pyro. My name is Acylius.”

“Hmm,” said the Great Pyro. He peered at Acylius over the tops of his glasses. “How interesting. What brings the son of Queen Bakrakra to Flower City?”

Acylius looked at his feet. Aelia shuffled forward a little so that she stood alongside him.

“He wants to be a Joyce,” supplied Fulgor.

The Great Pyro gave his son a mildly reproving look. “Please, Fulgor, let Prince Acylius speak for himself.”

There were a few long moments of silence. Then Acylius took a deep breath, stood up a little straighter, and told the Great Pyro the whole story—from tunnelling out of his room that morning, to stealing the frog machine in order to cross the swamp, to meeting Aelia and the subsequent argument, to the flight lesson and finally their encounter with Krabo and Krabouic, and Fulgor’s timely intervention. The Great Pyro remained silent for the entire recitation, and whenever Aelia or Fulgor opened their mouths to add something, he would give them a quelling look before they could utter a single syllable.

“I see,” he said, when Acylius fell silent again. “This is most unexpected. But on behalf of all Joyces, I welcome you to our Flower City. I hope that you will be very happy here.”

Acylius looked up with wide eyes. “Really? But—my lack of kolors—”

The Great Pyro shook his head with an indulgent smile. “It makes no difference whether one is drab or full of kolors,” he said. “The important thing is what is in our hearts. And it is clear to me where your heart lies, whatever your outward appearance.”

Fulgor’s antennae stood straight up in shock. “You mean a Yuk can be a Joyce?”

“Yes, naturally,” said the Great Pyro. “There’s less difference between us than you imagine.”

“Then Acylius can stay here with us!” exclaimed Aelia. She nearly threw her arms around the Yuk prince through sheer excitement, only catching herself at the last moment. That wasn’t the sort of thing that you did only hours after meeting someone, no matter how much you liked them. She settled instead for shaking one of his hands.

“Prince Acylius, welcome!” said Fulgor, taking the other and shaking vigorously. All his reluctance seemed to have vanished now that the Yuk prince had received the Great Pyro’s seal of approval. “C’mon, let’s go celebrate!” He almost ran out the door, bursting with excitement.

Acylius glanced at Aelia. He looked bewildered, as though the reality of the situation had not quite sunk in yet. “I don’t know what to say,” he said in a hushed voice.

She smiled at him, so wide that her face almost hurt. “You don’t need to say anything. Come on, we’d better catch up with him before he arranges something insane as a welcoming event.”

Acylius glanced after Fulgor, and nodded. “Right.” He still looked bewildered, but there was a smile on his face as well. When he turned it on her, her heart gave another great thump. “Shall we?”

With a laugh of sheer joy, Aelia led Acylius out of the Harmonicum to explore his new home.


End file.
